


Casualty of the Darkness

by kianisabitch



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Autistic Peter Parker, Coping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Peter Parker, Flashbacks, Gay Peter Parker, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Rape, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleepy Cuddles, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Verbal Abuse, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: Peter remembers when they used to cuddle or simply curl up together and listen to each other's heartbeats. They used to be the perfect couple. Alex would bring him milkshakes when he had a bad day, he always came to Peter’s science fairs and he even let the boy sleep over at his house whenever May had a night shift at the hospital (which was more often than not at this point due to a single paycheck never being enough to support their small family). But slowly, Alex stopped doing those thing. It started with him forgetting to bring Peter milkshakes when his eyes were red rimmed or anxiety attacks shook through his bed like a hurricane, but quickly morphed into daily insults and verbal abuse and then backhands to the face when he was angry or hands grabbing him too hard and finally the violent sex he was now so used to. Sometimes he missed how their relationship used to be. But the good times were a thing of the past and there was no use mourning what he no longer had.ORPeter is stuck in a highly abusive situation and Tony starts uncovering the truth in order to save the spiraling teenager.





	1. I still feel alive

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this fic I have two important things,
> 
> 1: please read the tags for all triggers included in the story!! This story could be found heavily triggering and you should protect yourself and stay safe. 
> 
> 2: Thank you so so SO much to my amazing beta. You can find her on tumblr and ao3 under the name 'CaptainStarSong'. She is amazing and deserves all the love for not only going through thousands of words and helping out whenever I felt stuck, but also being a super sweet person!!

Soft afternoon light drifted hazily through the partially cracked open window of the classroom. It was on the fifth floor of a New York City high rise building, so the view was a strange mix of exquisite and repulsive. Fire escapes and gorgeous apartments mixed with smog and dirty streets to create the intercity landscape. To others looking in on the school, it would look grimy and disheveled or like a poor place for a school. But to the students in the classroom, it was home and they had never known anything but schools being located in high rise buildings. 

 

Dust was floating in the air as nearly two dozen teenagers flipped through textbook pages and jotted notes down on scraps of looseleaf and spiral bound notebooks. Posters adorned the walls, reminding kids not to do drugs, and overall it was a pretty typical classroom. Antsy kids working on homework as the minute hand of the clock ticked to the final six minutes of their seventh period Algebra Two class. Feet bouncing up and down, pent up nervous energy ready to be spent when dashing out of the classroom the second class was over. 

 

Peter’s head was propped up on his skinny arms laying flat across the desk. His feet were tucked up onto the worn blue plastic of his chair, knees pushed tightly against his torso. He felt like he was melting, exhaustion present in every tense muscle of his taut and sore body. However, he still held his body tensely. 

 

Peter was using every single muscle in his stomach and upper body to hold his ass inches above the chair. Anytime it hit the hard plastic, he would hiss in pain. Alex had been particularly rough the previous night and his entire body felt like he was on fire. His ass was sore and he could swear he felt a small trickle of blood pooling in the back of his boxers and dripping down the slope of his thighs. Everytime it hit the chair, he wanted to scream. But, he couldn’t give away the fact that he was in pain. So, he kept his face expressionless and his ass hoovering with great effort inches above the seat. 

 

Peter had not slept the night before- rather staying up to count the glow in the dark stars stuck to his boyfriend's ceiling, until they no longer glowed when the early morning sun started to creep in through the windows. He had then dragged himself out of the bed before Alex awoke and taken a quick shower- scrubbing his body raw with steaming hot water, until he finally felt even a little bit clean. But Peter never felt clean anymore, not when he was always covered in bruises and dried semen.  He could never feel clean when he was so direly and fundamentally dirty. 

 

He was exhausted and every time his eyes drooped downwards, they stayed shut for more and more seconds- until finally from an outsider's perspective it would look like the boy was asleep. However, he was not asleep- simply thinking while his ass still hoovered inches from the seat of the chair. His mind was drifting to the project he and Mr. Stark had been working on, the TV show he had been binging recently (another activity he had been doing in lieu of sleeping recently)- the inky blue and purple bruises dancing at the edge of his long sleeved hoodie. They looked like someone had dipped their hand in paint and then proceeded to grab his arms. They were beautiful in a sense, the colors just perfect and looking like watercolors mixing together. But they were too painful to actually hold any beauty and he refused to find art in the remnants of his torment.

 

Peter fidgeted slightly, losing the appearance of being asleep as his ass painfully slapped into the plastic chair. He bit his tongue trying to keep from crying out at the contact. His eyes teared and blood gurgled into his mouth from the little cut on his tongue. 

 

When it was clear the boy had contained the sound of pain, he shook his head briefly in contempt towards his own feelings of pain. Sighing, he adjusted the hem of his sweater to better cover the aforementioned bruises. He hissed slightly at the pain, but it was nothing compared to his ass so he didn’t linger too long on it. He was used to the pain and at this point it simply didn’t bother him anymore. Pain was just a side effect of living. Sadly this side effect would completely distract him, however. Usually science and math were two of his best subjects. He was an A+ student and according to his teachers he was ‘destined for greatness’, someone who was definitely going to make it out of his crummy little apartment in Queens and make a name for himself. He was going to go to college and get an invaluable education. He was going to be the best. But right now he wasn’t the best. Right now he couldn’t even focus on math because he was in too much pain. Pain that he couldn’t control, pain that was simply a side effect of his existence. 

 

His teachers used to say stuff like that a lot. They used to really believe in him, they thought that he was actually worth something. But now, they would only look at him with that sad look in their eyes and shake their heads in some sort of tragic disbelief at him. 

 

Now he gets straight D’s instead of A’s and he sits at the back of class, head down and asleep within the first five minutes of the period. He’s always sleeping in class now and he hates what he has become. But by this point, he felt  like he had no better option. He’s tired all the fucking time and spends every night either working his ass off an patrol, or curled into a ball at the edge of his boyfriend’s bed or sometimes on the hard floor next to it- once Alex is done fucking him, he’s often not good enough to sleep with his boyfriend anymore. He’s not good enough for love, and Peter knows it makes sense that Alex would not let a creep like him into his own clean bed. 

 

Peter remembers when they used to cuddle or simply curl up together and listen to each other's heartbeats. They used to be the perfect couple. Alex would bring him milkshakes when he had a bad day, he always came to Peter’s science fairs and he even let the boy sleep over at his house whenever May had a night shift at the hospital (which was more often than not at this point due to a single paycheck never being enough to support their small family). But slowly, Alex stopped doing those thing. It started with him forgetting to bring Peter milkshakes when his eyes were red rimmed or anxiety attacks shook through his bed like a hurricane, but quickly morphed into daily insults and verbal abuse and then backhands to the face when he was angry or hands grabbing him too hard and finally the violent sex he was now so used to. Sometimes he missed how their relationship used to be. But the good times were a thing of the past and there was no use mourning what he no longer had. 

 

Ironically, class is now one of the only times he actually got to sleep and feel alone. You would think that sleeping on a desk sounds horrible, but anything that was far away from Alex was amazing. And luckily for him, Alex didn’t have seventh period algebra two with Peter. No, Alex was all the way two floors down in an AP literature classroom. So, Peter could comfortably be alone in this class, and being alone meant that he could sleep. He knew he should be focusing on the teacher and taking notes, on preparing himself for college and a better life than the one he currently was living, but he didn’t care anymore (it’s not like he was planning on going to college at this point anyways). If class was a place he could sleep in peace, damn right will his head be down on the desk in slumber.

 

He often tricked himself into finding normalcy in his actions. He used to care, be motivated, want a future. But now he seeks the escape of sleeping during a math class, walking in late to avoid having to talk to people, and doing absolutely anything to hide the bruises maring his porcelain skin. Somewhere in his mind, Peter is tempted not to hide them. Run around shirtless and displaying the hand shaped bruises on his arms and hips like blue and purple battle scars. Whether he subconsciously wants help, or is simply resigned to the fact that no gives a fuck- he does not know. The reality is that statistically no one really does give a fuck. Truly, no one cares about him or anyone like him for that matter. They didn’t care when he was a bullied gay kid and reported it to the school, so if he told someone why would they care when he was an abused gay kid. Society treated gay kids like garbage, the outcasts at the outskirts of their perfect little world. Kids like him were meant to be ignored and hurt and bullied and abused and mistreated. And even though it hurt him to admit, Peter was very intune with that fact. No one cares about gay kids, it was a fact. 

 

The bell rang abruptly and seemingly out of nowhere, startling the boy out of his racing thoughts. He flinched violently at the loud noise, toppling out of his seat and landing in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. His head hit the linoleum and he flinched further in pain. There were a few muffled chuckles from his classmates standing around him. People occasionally stopped to stare at the freak who had fallen on the floor, some even whispering a rushed ‘faggot’ or ‘loser’; but for the most part his peers didn’t even spare him a glance. If they did, perhaps they would realize something was very wrong. They would see that he wasn’t just being stupid or clumsy or a loser like they all so casually assumed. They would see that he was actually in pain, real fucking pain, and something was really really really really wrong. Their hearts might even go out to his in sympathy and he would get help- he wanted their help (at least his subconscious wanted it). But they simply kept walking, ignoring him and Peter was left curled into the fetal position on the floor of his seventh period algebra two classroom. He felt frozen, as if his body couldn’t move and the world had simply stopped spinning. Is this what giving up felt like? … this must be what giving up felt like. It had to be what giving up felt like. 

 

The teacher loomed over the crumpled boy on the floor, her entire body casting a shadow on his small, skittish figure. Peter could see her mouth moving, but it sounded like gibberish in his ears and her lips appeared to be going in slow motion. The syllables and motions of her mouth stretched out and distorted. 

 

Eventually, when it was clear the boy was not hearing her words, she leaned forward and tried to get his attention by resting a single hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. However at the feeling of her hand on him, his mind seemed to finally work again and his body flinched away from the touch violently. Her lemon scented hand sanitizer was heavy in his nose and Peter clamped a hand over his mouth- refusing to breathe it in and needing a physical barrier between him and the overpowering scent. But, it still seeped through the corners of his mouth and the gap between his fingers and lips. 

 

_ His face was pushed up against the bright yellow pillow case laying on the bed. His body was splayed, back side facing up and ass pushed into the air. The silky smooth fabric of the pillow case was deceptively soft on the skin of his face, yet scratchy on the rest of his naked torso. A hand was roughly pulling at the curls dusting at the nape of his neck, the other wrapped tightly around his upper arm. A bruise was forming, Peter could feel the pain bubbling under the surface of his taut skin. But all Peter could focus on was the feeling of fabric on his face and torso and the scent of lemon laundry detergent burning in his nose.  _

 

“Peter, sweetheart, class is over.” A soft voice drifted through the air and he felt like his body was somewhat coming back to him. Like a bandaid, slowly and carefully being pulled back in order to avoid pain.

 

He shook his head groggily, trying to rid himself of the last remnants of the out of body experience- like shaking water droplets from damp hair. He clenched and unclenched his fists, flexed his muscles and rubbed his hands back and forth over the cool floor. The cool tiles helped him feel grounded, more in his body and in this moment than in his boyfriend’s bed. 

 

The teacher bent back over him, her necklace dangling in his face as she reached out to help him get situated and sit up. Peter swallowed the fear of the woman approaching. He hated when people got in his space, when they tried to touch him. He tensed his entire body in order to avoid flinching- he didn’t want her to see that he was scared. He hated that he was flinching all the time recently. He felt like he no longer had control of his body. Like his actions were predetermined by a set of shitty things that had happened to him. He wanted to be able to react, without his body screaming that his actions would no doubt result in pain. Without his mind insisting that the entire world was out to get him and every movement was a second before he was hit- before he was hurt by someone he trusted. 

 

He scrambled off of the floor, his body moving heavily and without any sense of ease. as he grabbed the torn red backpack leaning on the side of his chair. He went through backpacks like no one's business. In fact, Aunt May often stated that she hated that he lost so many. To be fair, Peter also hated that he lost so many. Because when he lost them, he had to ask for a new one and backpacks were expensive. Even though Aunt May never mentioned it, Peter knew they were quite poor and Peter would never use their little money on something like a new backpack every three weeks. Part of him knew that if he asked Mr. Stark for help they wouldn’t be so poor, but he would never dare ask the man for help. 

 

He had a pretty good relationship with the man. After the whole homecoming fiasco, they started having lab days every friday night and Peter would stay at the compound for the remainder of the weekend- either training or just chilling with his mentor. Mr. Stark was the closest thing Peter had to a father (ever since Uncle Ben passed away at least) and it was refreshing to have that sort of relationship again. Peter loved Mr. Stark with all his heart and he would never ruin that by asking for help with money or by being greedy. Peter hated being greedy and even though it was something trivial like a backpack, he still refused to ask. So he was stuck with a torn backpack or sometimes with no backpack at all. It made him look disheveled and the permanently torn appearance of them never helped the boy look any more put together. In fact, they added to his waif-like appearance and teachers would constantly wonder why all his belongings were so worn down. However, being intercity teachers, they were used to run down looking children and eventually they stopped asking questions when kids came in looking a little worse for the wear or sporting second hand clothes or school supplies. It was a good sentiment in theory, but they still seemed to miss the kids that were actually struggling or needed help.

 

When he exited the classroom, the hallways were so empty you could hear every tick of a clock and whir of a vending machine prominently. Peter was thankful for this, as the last thing he wanted to do was deal with the sensations of an overcrowded hallway. He hated crowds with a burning passion. The feeling of being surrounded by people was suffocating. The sounds and sights and touch all became too much for him and he often felt like he was going to completely shut down. Peter wanted to attribute these feeling to the effects of the spider bite, and consequently his powers. He often described his senses as being dialed to 11- which people mistook for being exclusive to his powers. However, at age 8, Peter was diagnosed with aspergers- later on at age 12, he learned of it’s codependency with his newly diagnosed anxiety disorder- and he felt like he was drowning. Everything was hard for him. Sitting still, focusing, talking and understanding people, feeling calm and even breathing sometimes. It was even worse with his senses, because they always felt like the live end of a wire. Every texture he hated felt like poison, touch felt like a hot iron brand and sound made his ears want to bleed. 

 

Having sensory processing challenges was one of the worst feelings in his life. However, he had to live with it because feeling this way was simply a reality of being Peter. He got more overwhelmed than other people, had a harder time with emotions and sometimes needed to cry for hours on end or sit in a dark room rocking back and forth and flapping his hands. Others viewed it as crazy, but it was just a part of his life and he was used to it. However, the world wasn’t used to it and Peter was well acquainted with the feeling of being unlovable. No one could love a freak like him and because of his aspergers it made it even harder to decipher if the love he received was real. Maybe that’s why he let Alex do this to him. Being gay and autistic meant that pretty much no one could love him. So he would settle. Painful love was better than no love and if Alex was the only one that could give him love, he would deal with it. 

 

When he finished collecting his books from his locker he gently closed the door of it, trying to avoid the harsh sound of metal clanging. It was a little ironic that he took his books from his locker, as if he was actually going to read them and do his homework like a normal kid. He knew they would remain sitting in the bottom of his bag until the next class period he had. But, refusing to break the veil of normalcy, he still took them and would still pretend to do his homework. Maybe one day he’ll actually start doing his work again. He was resigned to the fact that that day would probably never come. But he kept on telling himself that maybe, just maybe it would actually happen. He promised himself that one day he would get back to caring about school. Right now it was on the bottom of his priority list, but one day he was going to make it number one again. 

 

His tatty sneakers made a soft scraping noise as he dragged his tired limbs across the floor. If this was last year, he would already be on the subway home, earbuds plugged in and on his way to pick up an after school snack from his favorite corner store/deli combo. However, this was not last year anymore and instead of taking the D line back to his cozy apartment in Queens or to Ned’s house for legos and dinner with his family, he was taking the local 6 train to Alex's apartment. He didn’t want to go, in fact he would do anything in his power to get out of it. But, he knew there was no way out of it. He could either go immediately and have the chance of seeing a somewhat happy Alex, or he could avoid it for a short time and have to face the wrath of an angry Alex. Angry Alex tended to remind him of a rabid dog, snarling and feral. Making him mad was like watching his amazing, generous boyfriend morph into a monster. In a single second, he went from zero to a hundred. Every ounce of happiness and love, seeping out of his being until he could only inflict pain. 

 

When he pushed open the main door to his school, Peter pushed his hood over his head and directed his eyes down. There were still a few stragglers milling about the entrance and near the subway stop, and Peter refused to make eye contact with them. He just needed to survive his peers until the next train came and he would then become another face in the constant commuter traffic. He would become invisible.

 

When the train pulled into the station, the boy trudged onto the crowded car. Finding a lone seat in the corner, he gently sat down, hissing at the pain in his ass. Next to him sat a woman and her toddler son. They were happy and smiling- sharing a cookie wrapped in a napkin and rapidly talking to each other about Finding Nemo. Peter tipped his head up at them and gave a small smile. He loved seeing young children with their parents. He felt like he missed that part of his life, and seeing kids so happy made his heart swell with joy. He was very much of the belief that kids should always have an amazing childhood and even though his was crappy- he refused to let himself feel jealous. No, he was happy. He wasn’t going to cry or get overwhelmed over some stupid kid and his parent. No, he was happy. Happy. Happy.

 

The train pulled into the station with a painfully loud screech. The many occupants of the car swayed like seasick sailors as they hustled to exit and run to their next train or end their commute in the richer, nicer side of Manhattan. Peter used to wish he lived here, in a half a million dollar apartment, with a doorman and flowers in the lobby. But that image was now ruined by Alex’s apartment, and maybe it was better he lived in Queens. Away from the insufferable wealth and pain of this part of the city. Where he lived people couldn’t hide behind prep schools and jobs on Wall Street. They worked harder for less and in the end always lost. It was a fucked up system, but Peter was used to it.

 

Everyone in New York City acts like they’ve drunk four espresso shots hourly. The people walk seemingly faster than humanly possible, scrambling like rats on the sidewalk. They’re in their own world, forgetting to marvel at the massive skyscrapers that are staples of their daily commute and knocking into others with reckless abandon. Being tiny, Peter is constantly at the receiving end- being knocked into and mulled over like he is nothing. Insignificant.

 

It was garbage day and as he walked the several blocks to his boyfriend’s apartment, Peter couldn’t help but equate himself to the heaps of trash on the curb. His nose wrinkled in disgust- unwanted, unloved and repulsive were words used to describe both trash and Peter Parker. 

His fingernails dug into the fleshy skin on the palm of his hand. The pain helped him ground himself in the moment, in not getting too caught up in the self hate and bad thoughts- because those never led anywhere good.

 

His phone buzzed and Peter dug his slightly bloodied hand into his pocket to retrieve it. He winced as the little cuts on his palm brushed against scratchy denim jeans, but simply clenched his teeth and read the message presented on the screen.

  
  


**Mr. Stark (3:27):** Hey kid, you coming by later ?? I have a gauntlet that needs repairing with you’re name on it. 

 

**Mr. Stark (3:27):** *your

 

**Mr. Stark (3:28):** Why did I have to put damn autocorrect on StarkPhones ??? It corrected your to you’re- stupid phone.

 

Peter chuckled for a second, caught in the ridiculous notion of a genius like Mr. Stark being thwarted by autocorrect. But his laugh seemed to die as soon as it reached his lips. He wanted nothing more than to go curl up in his mentors lab- a warm mug of hot chocolate (Mr. Stark would probably have coffee, but he would still put the mini marshmallows in like it was hot chocolate) and a difficult science problem to spend hours solving. It wasn’t Friday, so he probably couldn’t sleep over. But Peter might fall asleep on the worn down couch in the lab and Mr. Stark would probably wake him soothingly with a pet of his hair or even carry him to his personal quarters. These small moments were the only times Peter felt like he had a dad since his uncle had passed, and Peter craved the attention. He soaked it up like a sponge and basked in the warm feelings of being loved. 

 

Alex used to make him feel loved, a different type of love, but loved nonetheless. He used to bounce between his mentor and boyfriend’s affection like a ping pong ball. Back and forth, collecting hugs and cuddles, and in Alex's case- kisses. But now, he hides between pain and hiding the pain. Alex hurts him and Mr. Stark is oblivious. It’s a nasty cycle, leaving Peter worn down and out of the love he uses like a drug. He wishes he could protect himself from the pain or even just be honest with Mr. Stark. But he wears a mask of porcelain and blood. His emotions are a closed door and he will never be liberated. He will continue living with dishonest moments, a strong facade and tainted love. 

 

Peter leaned his shoulder into the heavy front door of the apartment building, pushing his entire weight into opening it. Usually he didn’t have to try so hard, but the combination of exhaustion and wounds were not doing wonders for his body and he felt too weak to even open the door currently. 

 

Peter tipped his head at the doorman; Antonio, an older and quite boisterous Italian man. But he didn’t remove his headphones or stop to partake in conversation. He was usually a pretty sociable person, especially when it came to the doorman at Alex’s apartment (he could relate to the whole not having a ton of money thing)- but today was not the day for a casual chat. No, today he was on a mission. Get to Alex’s apartment and escape as quickly and unharmed as possible. 

 

The up button outside of the elevators glowed bright white as Peter waited. His head would bop every few seconds, his teeth were clenched and he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Anxiously, the boy entered the elevator when it finally came. Punching floor 17- Peter cursed himself at the otherworldly aspect of New York City elevators. Somehow they went twice as high in half of the amount of time and it really didn’t make sense to him. Taller buildings equal faster elevators- so technically it really did make sense, but elevators should be a safe haven for thinking and he never could think when he felt rocketed at top speeds to his destination. 

 

True to their nature, the elevator reached his desired floor in mere seconds. With a small ding and flourish of opening doors, Peter was in front of Alex’s door in the blink of an eye. His nose was pressed close to the glossy, white wood and his toes scraped at the corner of the bright red doormat. He briefly remembered Alex mentioning it looking like “cherries”, but currently it only looked like blood. His blood. Thick and red- staining his paper white skin like inkblots. 

 

He knew the longer he waited to knock on the door, the longer it would to take for him to leave. It would also no doubt make Alex more upset with him. But, Peter felt like his entire body was stuck in molasses- his head full of cotton balls. His body was refusing to listen to him, his limbs defying his brain. He wanted to knock. Needed to go in and get the fear and pain over with. But, he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t. 

 

A loud knock reverberated around the hallway, bouncing of the narrow walls and glossy wooden doors. Peter’s head shot up and he grimaced at the loud sound- looking around to find the source of the sound. But after mere seconds of confusion, he stared down at his own hand. The hand which had seemingly betrayed him. He had not given it permission to knock, in fact he refused to let himself knock. But here he was after his hand betrayed him, standing fearfully on a cherry red doormat and anxiously waiting for his boyfriend to open the door. 

The door peeled open, reflections of light bouncing higher and higher onto the wall parallel to the door as it moved farther back. Peter willed himself to only focus on the reflections. To keep his eyes trained to the shifting form of light on the wall and off of the person standing menacingly in front of him. But, the boy quickly failed and his eyes flitted down from the shifting light to the person standing in the open doorway. His boyfriend’s lanky figure seemed almost out of place in the small frame. Alex’s head was tilted slightly to the side to fit in the ‘short’ space and it contributed to a sense of Peter feeling even smaller than he truly was. Once upon a time, there height gap was something to be envied. Alex was tall and strong, a track star and often frequenter of the local gym. Peter was his perfect nerdy boyfriend, tiny and often drowning in big hoodies with sweater paws pooling around his skinny wrists. Being small definitely had benefits for the boy and Peter was the perfect little spoon. He loved curling up against his boyfriends lanky frame, it made him feel safe and protected. Now his small stature made him feel weak, small, defenseless. It felt like his super strength melted into a puddle on the floor, abandoning him any time he faced his boyfriend.

 

Alex’s hand came forward and caressed Peters cheek. It was an act of innocence, but Peter violently flinched away from the touch, recoiling like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. He wanted to run as far away as humanly possible, but the hand grabbed his jaw. Using the fingers clenched on his face, Alex forced his boyfriend’s gaze upward- demanding the boy look straight into his eyes. 

 

“Now where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” He spoke quietly, every syllable pronounced and venomous. His muscles bulged under a tight white t shirt as he pulled the boy into the apartment and flush into his skin. Alex glanced quickly up and down the hall, as if scared to be caught manhandling the small boy. However, when he sees no lingering eyes- he violently slams to door closed. Peter flinches away from the harsh sound, but having none of it, Alex simply pushes him by slamming him into the wall next to the door. His backpack tumbled off his shoulder and hit a nearby shelf, books and china shaking and threatening to fall as his skull connects with the hard surface. Alex is holding him by his neck now, constructing his airways and causing him to splutter and gasp for air like a fish out of water. His feet dangle inches from the ground. His only points of contact, the hand choking his neck and his head on the wall. A trickle of blood dripped down his neck and onto Alex’s hand, crimson stark against his pale skin. 

 

Peter crashes to the floor in a heap of limbs. His boyfriend is nervously shaking his hand, trying to rid of his boyfriend’s blood. It splatters like paint, hitting the china plates and books on the nearby shelf.

 

“Fuck.” The word is short and clipped. “What the fuck do I do now???” Alex is ranting and raving, pacing around the room with his hands on his head. 

 

Peter tries to back away, trying to reach the door and escape the conflict. Alex grabs his arm roughly and refuses to let him leave. 

 

“Oh no you fucking don’t.  Your blood, your problem Peter,” His voice is maniac and his eyes scream danger. 

 

With Peter’s arm in one hand, he scoops up the books with the other and pushes them into his boyfriends grasp. The boy tries to squirm away, but Alex simply pulls the writhing boy to the window. Cool air rushes into the room, chilling the boy to his bones and making him flinch away from the window. It all feels like too much; the sticky blood trickling down his neck, the cool air and the texture of Alex's rough hands on his skin. His senses feel like they are on overdrive. He wants to shut down. He wants to pound his hands against his own flesh, scream and cry until his throat is raw. He needs to let the pent up emotions out and knows there are ways of doing it in a healthy manner. But he does not feel very healthy right now and he has no idea how to do it without having a meltdown.  

 

Alex’s rough hands gripped the wrist of the hand Peter was using to hold the books and brought him within inches of the open window. Confused, he tried to back away- but Alex only pulled him closer. “Nope, drop them.” The commands where short and direct. 

 

“What??” Peter sputtered, speaking for the first time since arriving at the apartment. 

 

Alex scoffs, “I know you heard me Peter. Drop. The. Fucking. Books.” His last sentence is spoken in a no nonsense voice

with short, clipped words  

 

“But, but… we’re 17 floors up...it’s going to hurt someone Alex…. I can’t do that…. I can’t hurt anyone… please.. I can’t.” 

 

“Now.” Alex commands, his voice commanding and loud.

 

Peter jumps, his hands slipping and the books tumbling like dead weights out of the window- blood flying like commits in the night sky.

 

“Good, now follow me,” His boyfriend’s voice is soft and icy now. 

 

Alex spins on his heels, grabbing the china plates from the bookshelf and retreating towards the lavish kitchen. Peter glances at the door once, contemplating leaving for a split second. But, that thought is killed faster than it came and he follows dutifully behind his boyfriend like a kicked puppy- head down and tail between his legs. 

 

The kitchen is painted in bright yellow and cream hues, perfectly complemented by the stream of sunlight from the large windows that serve as the left wall of the room. The air is thick and heavy with warmth, perhaps from the steady stream of sunlight entering the space. However, it feels too stifling and unnatural- like they are trapped in a furnace cranked up to a million degrees.

 

Alex is facing away from him, his tall form hunched over the sink and leaning against the soft cream colored cabinets. Despite his back being turned, Alex seems to sense his presence. It is clear in the way his body stiffens and he straightens his back to be his full six feet and two inch height. The brooding male motions for his boyfriend to come closer by quickly pointing his hand in Peter’s direction and then signaling towards the sink in front of him. Peter stumbles forward, eager to comply with the clear motion and avoid any repercussions of taking too long. In getting closer he notices thick trails of steam float above the surface of water, like little clouds in the afternoon sky. It is clear now that the insufferable heat is coming from the sink and he is unsure how the tap made such hot water. 

 

Water droplets wildly splash as the china plates loudly crash into the sink. Rough hands grab his wrists from behind, he is pushed forward, and for a split second it feels like time has stopped. Like bird wings are flapping in slow motion and the arch of water droplets splashing is ethereal. But then, it all stops and his body is rammed into the counter and his hands forward into the scalding water. And now, his screaming mixes like water and oil in the air with the sound of sizzling flesh. It sounds like red, like blood, like pain; and it has no place in this bright yellow room, in this perfect apartment. 

 

The water in the sink swirled with thick trails of blood. It looked like a galaxy, otherworldly in the way that makes you want to drop everything, abandon the life you have and  chase after aliens and fairies and other such mysterious and questionably real creatures. Peter really wanted to chase after said creatures, or perhaps visit another dimension or meet an alien. But sadly, he was stuck here. Stuck in this perfect yellow apartment, in this not so perfect life. And the closest thing he would get to an otherworldly creature, was the ghost of the boy he used to be.

 

Alex’s voice cut through his thoughts like a molten knife, “When you’re done here, meet me in my room.”  He looks down his nose at the shorter boy, “Don’t even think about adding colder water or pulling a stupid act like that.” 

 

With an exaggerated sigh he turns to leave. For a second, Peter glances over and catches sight of the boy. Alex is shrouded in light from the large windows, his sweater is slightly ruffled, his hair sticking up just the slightest. But, he mainly looks normal- looks beautiful. Like the man he fell in love with. But, the blisters on his hands and the books that had tumbled so carelessly from the window told him otherwise. Alex wasn’t beautiful, Alex was dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is folks!! Iron Dad Big Bang 2019 complete and ready for posting. I've been working on this fic since the summer and I honestly could not be more proud of how much I've grown as a writer and a person since I started this journey. I know this is cheesy, but things have been super hectic in my life recently and posting this fic honestly is an achievement I've been looking forward to for months. 
> 
> This fic is finished and will be posted on chapter a week until I finish. 
> 
> Also every chapter title is a song title or lyric that I love and think goes really well with the content of the chapter!!
> 
> Feedback and general good vibe comments are like coffee to me, it fuels me to keep on writing and loving this fandom.


	2. It feels good to mess it up

Sunshine burned the back of eyelids like tiny stars brightly dancing across his sight or the visual representation of birds chirping in the morning. The light was there to remind him to get up, a natural alarm clock and little push to get out of bed. Peter didn’t want to get out of bed, he wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of blankets forever. Sadly, that wasn’t truly an option and he eventually forced himself to roll onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. He wanted to sleep for hours more or perhaps force his Aunt to come wake him up and drag him to school (like she had done on several unfortunate occasions before). But something about the pillow felt wrong, and somehow Peter knew Aunt May wasn’t going to come wake him up.

 

Lemon. It smelled like lemon. Peter cracked open a single eye, greeted with the blurry form of a bright yellow pillow case. “Fuck,” he vocalized quietly in disbelief. His pillow case was dark blue and smelled like laundry detergent and coconut shampoo, definitely not lemon. How could he have convinced himself he was at home?? How could he mistake this lavish apartment, and the smell of lemon, and the bright sunlight and all the yellow for his cosy Queens Apartment?? How?? 

 

His hands closed into fists, but he froze as his fingers came into the contact with his palm. It burned like he was touching the surface of the sun and a scream bubbled to the surface of his lips. The boy quickly stopped the scream, unsure if Alex was still around, by biting down hard on his lip. Blood dripped down his chin, as the boy softly unfurled his fists. He hissed at the sight in front of him, squinting his eyes and forcing himself to take a deep breath in (rather than crying out in fear). His normally pale flesh was charred and black; angry red blisters marred his skin and little pockets of pus surrounded the blisters. A drop of blood from his lip landed with a soft thud on his broken flesh and for a single second, Peter was caught on to how truly broken he was and the irony of this situation. Of the new injuries and the old mixing. Of the reality of one being a twisted gift from Alex, the other being one from himself. The stark contrast of the old, festering blisters and the small pools of new blood glistening like small river in the sunlight.  It was strangely beautiful, yet disgusting. It made his skin crawl and his heart race to see how marred his skin was. 

 

A single drop of glistening, red blood dripped from his palm onto the bright yellow pillow case. It appeared to happen in slow motion, the arch of the liquid curving and arching until it finally landed with a soft thud. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The boy frantically jumped out of the bed, trying to distance himself from the stark contrast of the blood mixing with the bright yellow fabric. However, the boy almost instantly regretted it when his joints cracked and bones protested under the pressure of his weight hitting the ground.

 

On any other day he probably would’ve stopped, reprimanded himself and given himself a gentle reminder to take better care of his body. But Peter didn’t have time for that today. No, today he barely stopped to contemplate the pain of his aching body and rather, he scanned his eyes frantically over the room. It was deceptively as light and perfect in Alex’s bedroom as in the rest of the apartment. But little things felt out of place, felt wrong, and they were like tiny cracks spiraling out of control on the facade of perfection. 

 

There was an angry, red pool of blood staining the bright pillow case. Yellow and white sheets were empty and rumpled on the bed, the comforter laid forgotten on the floor. His clothing was sat in a little heap in the corner; if you looked closely there were faint blood stains on the periodic table underwear and the sweatshirt looked well worn, if not tatty.  They looked as if they were thrown into a the corner without a second thought. As if they were in a hurry to discard them and retreat to the rumpled sheets on the bed. Peter’s entire body shivers at that thought and goosebumps break across his naked skin (how did he not realize he was naked until this moment). It was a hurry for Alex, who wanted to push the man into the bed and take advantage of the small boy. But he had not been in a hurry. In fact, he would have loved to stay curled up in his big, worn out, comfy sweater and watch movies for the rest of the night. Maybe casually make out or just cuddle. But not fuck. No Peter had not wanted to fuck. He hated it in fact, because fucking was too aggressive; and when Peter finally wanted to give his everything to a man he loved, he wanted it to be slow and gentle. He wanted lingering kisses and fingers gently dancing across the strip of skin where his shirt hitched up. He didn’t want to simply fuck, because his body deserved more- his mind deserved more. 

 

Quickly, the boy shrugged the dark blue sweatshirt over his shoulders. He ditched the boxers, throwing the offending object in the small trash basket across the room, and he was careful to keep the blood away from his faded jeans. Smoothing his hair down with his non bloody hand, Peter sighed to himself. He would do anything to keep up the facade of being ok. Throw out his favorite nerdy underwear, keep his worn out clothing blood free, wipe the tears away and smooth down his hair, pretend and pretend and pretend that everything was fine- he would do anything.

 

His abused skin chafed against the rough denim. The raw flesh stuck to the inside fabric of his jeans, blood was a cryptic adhesive, and it tore every few seconds when one leg would step in front of the other.

 

The boy grabbed his bag from where it had fallen the previous day. Rifling through the smaller pocket, objects and crumpled paper flying everywhere as he quickly tried to locate his phone. The silence of the apartment was stifling and he wanted to drown it out with music. However, before he can chase the silence away, he is startled by the number of notifications present on the screen. The bright  **10:47 AM** shines up at him, along with 14 text messages and 3 calls from  **Mr. Stark** and 4 text messages and 5 missed calls from  **Aunt May.**

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 3:48 PM):** Hey kid, are you still coming over?

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 4:17 PM):** Pete, I’m trying not to be an “overprotective dad” (or whatever you would call my worrying), but I am worried so call me.

 

**Yesterday 5:59 PM- Missed Call: Mr. Stark**

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 6:09 PM):** Call. Me. Now.

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 7:59 PM):** May says you’re not home, where are you ??

 

**Aunt May (Yesterday, 8:02 PM):** Hey sweetie Tony just called me worried, just checking in to make sure you’re ok :)

**Yesterday 8:09 PM- Missed Call: Aunt May**

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 9:25 PM):** I swear if you went patrolling and didn't tell me your ass is dead.

**Yesterday 10:01 PM- Missed Call: Mr. Stark**

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 10:04 PM):** Kid?????

 

**Aunt May (Yesterday, 10:17 PM):** Hey sweetie, I just got off the phone with Mr. Stark and we’re both worried. Call me please. 

 

**Aunt May (Yesterday, 10:30 PM):** I’m trying not to freak out, but I am really worried Peter. Call me ASAP. 

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 10:56 PM):** I’m assuming your phone died and that you didn’t die. 

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 11:20 PM):** If you died, you’re grounded forever Parker.

 

**Mr. Stark (Yesterday, 11:40 PM):** Ok, I’m leaving now. Text me when your phone is back on.

 

**Mr. Stark (Today, 2:43 AM):** trying not to be worried. 

 

**Mr. Stark (Today, 4:56 AM):** please be ok. 

**Aunt May (Today, 8:40 AM):** Just got a call from the school that you missed first period attendance. I’m super worried sweetie. 

 

**Today 8:41 AM- Missed Call: Aunt May**

 

**Today 8:42 AM- Missed Call: Aunt May**

 

**Mr. Stark (Today. 8:45 AM):** May just told me you’re not in school. Where are you?

 

**Today 9:02 AM- Missed Call: Aunt May**

 

**Mr. Stark (Today, 9:30 AM):** Please respond.

 

**Mr. Stark (Today, 10:47 AM):** Please kid, please. 

 

The last message still lit up the screen in a soft glow when he first looked down at his phone. The boy had completely forgotten about his Aunt and his mentor. He didn’t quite process that they would be worried; However, It was probably relieving that they were worried. That they cared enough to wonder where he disappeared to, why he didn’t come home last night and why he wasn’t responding to their frightened messages. He wanted to think that he could just disappear. Start walking one day and never look back. Never have any regrets or people waiting for him at home. It was nice that they cared so much, because he cared about them so much. But, he was a fiery comet shooting to the earth and he couldn’t afford to care about people. He was the meteor that wiped the dinosaurs out and he simple refused to bring those he loved to the brink of extinction.  

 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breathe in and smoothing his rumpled blue hoodie with his unhurt hand. He was chasing a sense of wholeness, like children chase butterflies or bubbles 

(never truly being able to catch them or rather realizing that catching them did more harm than good). He wanted to feel every muscle in his body, every point his weight made contact with the earth. He wanted to feel a reminder that he was alive. Recently, the only reminders he got were through pain. Achy muscles, busted lips, bruises on his wrists and thighs. He was someone's messed up version of an art project. Spilled inky black paint, paper torn and crumpled at the edges. He tried to escape this constant feeling of pain, ground himself in some other, some better way. But pain was addictive, especially when you think you deserve it. 

 

Peter clutched his phone loosely in his injured hand. The blisters and blood bubbled angrily and oozed slightly when it connected with the sleek surface. He glanced down at the myriad of missed messages and calls, but quickly swiped off of them. He wasn’t ready to deal with them. He was definitely not in the mood to talk and certainly not to explain himself. 

 

Instead he flicked open the music app, popped in his earbuds and tapped open ‘Sad Bitch Hours.’ His head moved slightly on the beat of a sad indie song, and his fingers tapped the rhythm on the outside skin of his thigh. He stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and slung his bag over his right shoulder. Pushing open the door, he glanced back and started at the apartment. Light flooded through the large windows, illuminating China plates, stacks of books and perfect yellow throw pillows. However, there felt like there was a shroud of darkness over the entire apartment. Yellow tinted with murky black hues and little balls of darkness. It felt like there was a demon sitting in the corner or a monster hiding under the perfect yellow throw pillows. How could a place so seemingly perfect, so beautiful, be so dark- so corrupted. 

 

The boy toed his foot against the bright cherry (he still thought it looked like blood) doormat sitting on the floor outside of the apartment. All these bright colors, the yellows and the reds, they were colors of deception. They created a fake illusion of happiness, of comfort. But, they weren’t actually comforting. No, they were cold and impersonal. They reminded him of blood and lying and pain. 

 

The heavy wooden door of the apartment slammed shut, resounding in a loud sound echoing throughout the hallway. Suddenly, he was surrounded by a sense of cool indifference. The greys of the walls, in contrast to the fake bright colors, were strangely comforting. 

 

His phone buzzed once again in his pocket. It was only a short interruption to his music, jarring him out of his comatose of thought, but it was a well needed reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in school right now, not nursing injuries on the way out of his boyfriend’s perfect apartment on the late morning of a school day. His life wasn’t supposed to be this messed up. He wanted to be normal, but he wasn’t normal. In fact, he never was normal. No, he started as the pathetic kid with aspergers, and then the pathetic gay kid with aspergers, and then the pathetic gay kid with aspergers and superpowers, and finally the pathetic gay kid with aspergers, superpowers AND an abusive boyfriend. In a strange way the boyfriend made him the most normal. The aspergers made him a freak, the homosexuality made him freakier and the superpowers made him a full blown freaky as all heck social outcast on a whole different level. But teenagers often had boyfriends, even if they were usually girls, and at least one thing he was experiencing was a normal thing for a teen.

 

Peter ducked his head as he entered the elevator car. He avoided eye contact with the elderly man standing slightly behind him, keeping his eyes trained on his ratty sneakers. The door slid open on the 4th floor and the man moved to exit. His arm momentary brushed against Peter’s and suddenly his entire body felt like it was on fire. He felt like the live end of a frayed wire. He wanted to scream and scream and scream and scream, cry until his throat was red and bloody. 

 

He gritted his teeth, sunk his nails into his blistered hands, scrunched his eyes and tilted his head backwards. He needed to stay quiet- now was not the time for a meltdown. He desperately needed to meltdown, sooner rather than later ideally. Find a dark room, lay under a weighted blanket, put on noise canceling headphones and sleep until his body could reset itself. But he didn’t have the ability to do that currently and he was stuck with the shitty, second best option of trying to wait his symptoms out. However, that posed a huge problem. There was no way Peter was going to school today; his body hurt too much, his brain was frazzled and the teachers would ask too many questions. However, he had no other place to go. Home was certainly not an option, he wasn’t ready to face May yet and he was terrified of spending too much time alone and thinking of too many depressing things. If school had not have been in session, he might’ve considered going to Ned’s house. But, that wasn’t even a good option for after school let out later in the day either. Ned would take one look at his stiff posture and demand to know what was wrong, he would probably discover Peter’s hands in .01 seconds flat and demand to know what had happened. If Peter didn’t tell he would definitely assume the worst and being the only one that knew about his relationship, he would connect the dots far too quickly. (On a side not, Peter was 99.9% sure MJ also knew- but that’s a story for another time.) 

 

In the end, the only viable option seemed to be going to the tower. However, that still seemed like a horrible option. It would probably be a disaster after the whole ‘crazy, overprotective dad’ act Mr. Stark had displayed yesterday. If Peter showed up at the tower, Tony would have him in the medical ward within the first moment he laid eyes on Peter. He seemed to have laser eyes and no amount of hiding his hands in his gigantic, blue hoodie would stop Mr. Stark from seeing the blisters on his hands. And then there would be the questions, so many freaking questions. And Peter wasn’t ready for the all the questions. He wasn’t ready to tell Mr. Stark about Alex, because he wasn't even ready to tell Mr. Stark about being gay. He already felt like such a failure in his mentor’s eyes, he didn’t need to add being gay to the list. Mr. Stark would probably hate him so much for being a faggot. He probably wouldn’t want anything to do with Peter anymore. Or worse, he might even agree with how Alex treated him- or even treat Peter like that himself. He wouldn’t know what to do if Mr. Stark started hurting him, but a part of him knows that he would probably deserve it. After all, fags deserve to be punished.

 

People always tried to convince him that being gay wasn’t anything out of the normal in the 21st century. Straight people seemed to have this belief that people didn’t care about other people’s sexual orientation anymore. But Peter thought that was complete and utter bullshit. The world seemed to hate people like him and Peter had had more negative experiences as a gay man in this world than positive ones. Heck, his high school nickname wasn’t ‘Penis Parker’ for any positive kind of reason.

 

The boy’s curls bounced in the late morning air with every step he took. He ducked his head backwards, letting it wash over him and feeling enveloped in it’s warmth. He wasn’t sure where he was going. A strange part of him wanted to turn around, return to the apartment and wait for Alex to return home from school. He knew that Alex wasn’t always kind to him, but it was the only feeling he truly knew and the only place that currently felt familiar to him. He was like a lost boy and the only thing he could see on the horizon was Alex. And maybe that was ok. Alex loved him after all, and that’s all he wanted. Love, he needed to be loved by anyone and if Alex was giving him the love, he would have to deal with some blisters and sore bodies. It was worth it to feel the wholeness of being loved by another. 

 

The boy vehemently shook his head, trying in a sense to physically chase the thoughts away. He simply tried to focus on the warm air around him, the way it ruffled his hair and enveloped his face. He craved the feeling of being grounded, and focusing on the air rather than his thoughts made him feel that way. Like his thoughts were clouds passing in the sky and his problems were birds sailing high up, away from his body. 

 

Reaching the corner of the the block, the boy quickly glanced both ways. Peering down past traffic lights and people rushing into sandwich shops and banks. The sidewalk had the regular buzz of the city, but it wasn’t mobbed by any stretch of the imagination. Peter wanted to run up the middle of the sidewalk, arms spread like wings- ready to fly. When he was a much smaller child, Peter used to run in parking lots and sidewalks just like that. Arms spread, feeling the rush of air running through his fingers and making his hair look like a rats nest.  He had convinced himself that if he ran fast enough, he would eventually learn to fly. Sometimes, he still did it. When the urge to run and run and run and get away from this life overtook him, he would fall back into the familiar pattern of running up and down sidewalks like a wild child. Arms spread like a baby bird and heart pounding like a drum in his chest. 

 

He tipped his head back, earbuds stretching tightly at the movement, and sucked in a large gulp of the city air. He spun on his heels, placing one leg in front of the other- baring his body in a running stance. He pushed his body forward, leaning his body’s weight onto his front leg. He was ready to sprint down the crowded sidewalk, with his arms spread and head back. Ready to get away. Ready to release his pent up energy. To run. run. run. run. Ru- the knee he was leaning on buckled painfully under his weight and he tumbled forward like a domino that had been tipped over. The palms of his blistered hands tore painfully against the concrete as he frantically tried to catch his fall. His limbs were splayed out at odd angles on the sidewalk, his joints popped and his entire body creaked like an old wooden house in a tornado- ready to collapse at a moment's notice. 

 

He must truly be a pathetic sight. A boney teenager drowning in worn out clothing, with bruises and cuts like unwanted battle wounds, sprawled in the middle of the sidewalk on a busy street. Some people stopped and stared at him, their eyes burning into his skin, before they continued on their path. The others didn’t even stop to stare. They just continued on their path, never letting their eyes glance over the broken boy. Sadly, he was not out of place in an urban cityscape. New Yorkers were used to seeing the helpless occupying every space imaginable (sidewalks being one of those unfortunate spaces.) 

 

A large man, wearing heavy leather boots, tripped over the boy on the sidewalk. The tray of three cups of iced coffee, precariously placed in one hand, went flying. Freezing ice cubes and  liquid splashed Peter, dripping down his porcelain skin and onto his faded blue hoodie. The man cursed under his breath, no doubt for the loss of the coffee, but didn’t even stop to ask the boy if he was ok. In fact, it seemed as if the man hadn’t even noticed his presence. Mourning three cups of iced coffee, over the boy he had tripped over. 

 

The man continued hastily down the sidewalk; Peter was left in the same unruly heap of limbs on the sidewalk. The boy sighed loudly, shaking his wrists gently in hopes to relieve some of the pain. Pushing himself off of the ground, he pulled his torn backpack closer to his body and bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. He wanted to stand in the middle of the sidewalk all day, or fade into the nothingness of New York City Pedestrians. But he knew he couldn’t actually do that. No, he couldn’t disappear. Not now, not ever. 

 

With an uncharacteristic spring in his step, putting an awful lot of strain on his wounded legs, the boy started walking up the block. His heart beat as fast as a million butterflies wings, his head spinning dangerously, his mind set with determination. When he reached the desired subway stop, he thundered down the stairs (refusing to listen to the pop of his joints and his aching body telling him to slow down).

 

Peter pulled his hood over his ruffled curls, hiding his face from passers by. He waited for a man carrying a bright yellow bicycle in hand to push through the emergency exit, and then swiftly ducked passed the door before it closed and locked once more. In the hurry to get his phone out back at Alex’s apartment, his school issued free metrocard had gone flying and the boy definitely did not have money for a new metrocard. He looked like a delinquent, so why not act like one anyways, jumping turnstiles and ducking past emergency exits was just a part of being poor in New York City. The farther he strayed from Spider-Man’s values the easier it would be to accept that one day he would stop being good enough to be Spider-Man. The badness and brokenness would consume so much of his entire being, that he would have no choice but to stop being a hero. Leave the hero work up to the real good guys and focus on just breathing. Or better yet- not breathing.

 

When he was little, Peter used to idolize Iron Man. He loved everything about Tony Stark, worshiped every word he spoke and the land he walked on. He had even gone to the Stark Expo when he was smaller just to see the man he admired so truly. Meeting Mr. Stark, and later cultivating a personal relationship with him, were truly some of the best parts of his life. That’s why disappointing him scared him so much. Peter wanted to be perfect for Tony and if that meant not being the freak with aspergers, or the gay kid or the person who got himself into too many stupid situations- so be it. Peter would be perfect for Mr. Stark if it was the last thing he ever did. So for now, he would stick bandaids over the problems (literal bandaids on his hands) and pretend like everything was fine. He would put a bright, shiny smile on his face, say his phone had died, ignore the pain of his body and pretend like everything wasn’t crashing and burning around him. His world may feel like it’s on fire, but he would definitely smile like it wasn’t. 

 

Lost in his thoughts, his frail body rocked and swayed with the jerky movement of the subway car. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, but every few seconds he would lose his footing and need to catch himself on the cool metal pool. The people grumbled every time it happened, shooting dirty looks at him and ushering their children away from him. It hurt that they didn’t want their children around him, because he himself was a child. But to them, child or not, he simply looked dirty. Or maybe deranged, or dangerous. When he was little, he used to remember his Aunt pulling him close to her body when they saw homeless or hurt people on the subway. He used to cower close to her warm skin, tug at her shirt if they came to close and dart his eyes to the ground if they tried to look at him. Like many children who grew up in New York City, he was socialized at a young age to ignore those who looked dangerous, less fortunate or homeless. It wasn’t something taught flat out, but rather something passed between generations- a rule of thumb that no one ever dared to ignore. It was with a cruel sense of irony that Peter had become the person to avoid. Like a wilting flower, he had grown through the time of youth and beauty, and he was now stuck as the wilting blossom no one wanted to touch.

 

The train rattled to a stop when he reached his station. People swarmed out of the doors like ants around dropped food when they slid open. Most men took up more space than was truly necessary; spreading their legs wide on the train, boxy shoulders and backpacks hitting and jostling an unlucky passersby as he exited. But Peter shrunk his body in on himself, holding his bag close to his back and his blistered hands close to his chest. He needed to feel small, to feel invisible.

 

When exiting the station, Peter ducked under the turnstile because he was unsure if his body could deal with the metal rod hitting him (even if it was softly). He gnawed at his lip slowly as his hands shook close to his chest with nerves. He  dragged his feet up the steps like he was trying to run a marathon in a puddle of molasses. His feet crunched flyers and fast food wrappers, his body hurt every time it connected with the step; some stuck to the bottom of his sneakers and flew up in the soft breeze when he reached the street level.

 

Walking down the sidewalk he felt like a ghost. His eyes were trained on nothingness while his head felt fuzzy. The further he walked the more he doubted his plan. However, the boy was on a mission and he refused to let himself stop until he reached his destination. 

 

In a strange way, and with a sense of heavy regret, he was trying to slow down the inevitable. He had willingly come here, but when it came down to it, he didn’t actually want to be here. He wanted to hide out or listen to sad music or maybe cry. But, he certainly had no desire or ability to confront his problems. However, here he was. Staring up at a taller than life building materializing in front of him with every step he took, all the while cursing himself for deciding that this was a good idea in the first place.    

 

The boy pulled his blistered hand away from his chest. Carefully, in order to avoid aggravating the blisters against rough denim, he slid his phone out of his back pocket. He bopped his head to the playing music and took a deep breath in. He was probably going to regret what he was about to do, because this definitely was not going to end well. But he desperately needed to do this. He need help and this was the fastest way he knew how to get. 

 

He forced his fingers to tap away at the keyboard. They seemed to have a mind of their own, but he needed to get this message out. He needed help so badly and he was going to get it if it was the last thing he did.

 

**New Message to Mr. Stark**

 

**Peter Parker  (Today, 12:03 PM):** hey...i’m outside, can i maybe come in or something……. ?? 

  
**Mr. Stark (Today, 12:03 PM):** coming now. Don’t you DARE move. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter !!! As always, I thrive on feedback and good vibes :D


	3. Every night, I live and die

Peter was precariously perched on the edge of a metal examination table in the usually bustling medical bay of Stark Tower. On any normal day, you could find half a dozen scientists and doctors working on groundbreaking medical treatments or treating minor injuries on the staff of the tower.  However, it wasn't currently busy due to an angry Tony Stark having yelled at the entire staff to get out immediately.

 

When Mr. Stark had first appeared outside to collect Peter, he had been fuming. He had been barefoot and only been wearing an old, worn out ACDC t shirt and plaid boxers- looking ridiculously out of place on the sidewalk outside of a billion dollar company’s headquarters. His dark locks of hair stuck up crazily in every direction like a wild mane. He looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, if not days and he was out of breath from having run to reach Peter as quickly as possible. 

 

The moment he laid eyes on Peter, the man had pulled him into a bone crushing hug. It was a sweet gesture, but Peter wasn’t sure his body could take anymore pain. Nonetheless, he tried to keep a straight face through the embrace to just focus on the feeling of being safe. To listen to the steady heartbeat where his ear pressed against the man’s chest and enjoy the smell of his mentor’s cologne and motor oil mixing. But the hug stopped quicker than it started, because in the end he couldn’t help but flinch and recoil away from the touch. It hurt too much and his body wanted to protect itself. To reject the pain and run away from the one causing it. 

 

When Peter had flinched away, Mr. Stark’s features had flashed with a mixture of confusion and concern. He held the boy out at arms reach. Running his calloused hands up and down Peter’s face and body. He searched for the cause of the flinching, sure there was a physical ailment at the root of the cause. And to be fair, his hands burned and his ass throbbed painfully. But he also hated being touched. Not only was it sensory hell for the boy, but Alex taught him that touch was bad. Touch meant that he was going to be hurt, be unloved and unwanted. Touch was the physical representation of others’ hate for him; and regardless of the love he had for Mr. Stark, he didn't want to be touched by him. If Mr. Stark touched him now, he was sure it would be in some sort of pain inflicting way. After all, why else would someone ever want to touch a freak like him?

 

The man frowned at him when he had continued to flinch away and shake nervously. He looked on the verge of tears as he dragged the boy into the building, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving, and into the elevator. Pushing the button for the med bay, silence sat like a heavy weight on their shoulders. Peter had stood curled into himself and looking down at his shoes as Tony fumed like a tea kettle whistling and violently boiling over. 

 

When they had reached the medical bay, Mr. Stark had automatically started yelling orders at the staff around him. His mentor seemed to have two completely different attitudes, flipping back and forth like a switch. He calmly ushered Peter to sit on an examination table, treating him like a something fragile that could break at any second. All while yelling at the staff to ‘get the fuck out, right fucking now. Or else their ass would need to find a new job immediately.’

 

That was how Peter found himself angrily sitting on a metal examination table in the medical bay of Stark Tower. His eyes darting between glaring at the man across the room and down to his feet dangling off the table. His heart was beating faster than a wild stampede and he hunched his entire body into itself in order to feel smaller. His hands were shaking nervously and he kept his injured palms hidden under the long, dangling sleeves of his fades blue hoodie. He was hoping Mr. Stark wouldn’t see the angry red flesh of his hands if he hid them well enough, but the realistic part of him knew that wouldn’t happen.

 

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice rang throughout the room.

 

The boy ducked his head further down in response, refusing to answer or catch the man’s eyes. He could hear footsteps resonating through the room getting closer and closer to him with each second passing. 

 

A hand landed softly on his shoulder and the boy flinched away from the touch.  “Peter... please talk to me kid.” His voice cracked and he tried to catch the boy’s downcast eyes. “Please talk to me sweetheart, I know something’s wrong...let me help you….please Peter….just talk to me kid”

 

A warm, calloused hand gently touched the cool skin of Peter’s jaw. Softly, Mr. Stark pulled his face up. Dark brown eyes bore into his own and Peter desperately tried to pull away. But the man tightened his grip slightly, refusing to let the boy go. “Peter, you need to tell me what’s wrong right now kid.” His voice was harsher now, demanding an answer. 

 

Peter’s voice felt stuck in his throat. He desperately wanted to speak and explain what was wrong (or rather come up with an excuse), but his voice wasn’t letting him do that. It was like his body was trying to protect him. He feared rejection so deeply that his body physically would not set him up for that situation. He refused to let himself be hurt by the man he loved and respected like a father. What if Mr. Stark hated gay people??? What if he hated Peter??? What if he didn’t hate gay people, but he hated Peter??? If Mr. Stark found out not only that he was gay, but also that he was pathetic- he would cut Peter out of his life completely. He would ditch hum and never, ever, ever come back.

 

Tony caught a tear falling like a raindrop from Peter’s eye on the pad of his finger. Until that moment, he hadn’t even realized he was crying. But the feeling of the rough finger catching the tear felt like the dam was breaking. Suddenly the single raindrop tear turned into an entire thunderstorm. He was full out sobbing now, his body wracking and shaking under the pressure. Peter was clutching to his mentor like his life depended on it. The blistering palms of hands connected painfully with Tony’s bare lower arms. He held on tightly, sobbing into the worn out band t-shirt and trying to ground himself.

 

Warm hands encircled his bony wrists and the man peeled the tiny boy away from his body. He flipped over the boy’s hands, revealing his blistered palms. A single finger ran over the boy’s angry red skin, trying to assess the damage in as gentle a way as possible.  

 

“Peter…” his voice started softly.  

 

Peter shook his head violently. He wasn’t answering any questions the man asked. No. No. No. His lips were sealed.

 

Tony soothingly ran his hands over the unmarred backside of his hands, trying to calm the boy down. “Hey….hey kid, please just tell me what happened. I promise I can help you if you tell me what’s wrong. You just need to tell me what happened, sweetheart.” 

 

Peter aggressively pulled his hands out of Mr. Stark’s firm grasp. In a sacred manner he  scrambled backwards and toppled off of the metal table like a leaf falling from an autumn tree. His head connected painfully with the tile floor with a loud thud. His mind instantly felt fuzzy and suddenly he felt like he wasn’t there anymore. 

 

_ His head connected painfully with the floor of The Midtown High School locker room. Disturbed dust floated up into the air, present under the glow of flickering fluorescent lights. His nose burned with the scent of cleaning detergent and spit dripped onto his face, from the male standing menacingly over him. His jeans and boxers were pooled around his ankles. Semen, blood and spit dripped down his legs and he cowered away from the man. He tried to fit himself into the space between the heavy wooden bench and the space where the bottom of the metal lockers connected with the floor. _

 

_ “Don’t you ever, EVER say no to me again Peter. I don’t care where we are, or who is around. You’re not ever allowed to say no. Not now, not ever. Don’t ever say no to me again.” _

 

_ A heavy, steel toed boot connected with the side of his body. A loud crack echoed through the room and his ribs exploded with pain.  _

 

_ “Please stop..” Peter softly vocalized between sobs. “Please….please… please don’t do this to me Alex….please”, he begged over and over and over again. _

 

_ The boot connected once again with his side, his ribs cracking and shifting painfully. _

_ “Learn your place Peter.”Alex seethed down at him, “Learn your fucking place.” _

  
  


Peter was cowering half under the examination table now. He couldn’t quite distinguish between his flashback and reality. He could feel the cool metal of the examination table against his lower leg, but he could also see the flickering of fluorescent lights and smell the cleaning solvent used on the locker room floor. He held his hands close to his chest, almost as if he was protected the area around his ribs, and he muttered ‘please..please don’t do it’ over and over and over again. He was trying to hide from the tormentor that only existed in his mind.

 

The smell of motor oil and expensive cologne mixed with the harsh scent of cleaning detergent present only in his own nose. Trying to focus on the new scents, Peter tipped his head back. However, this time he only let it softly connect with the floor. He focused on the points of contact with the ground and the feeling of the cold metal on his lower leg. He tried to focus on the scent associated with his mentor and pull himself away from the harsh cleaning product scent. 

A soft, constant murmuring mixed with the boy’s loud pleas to stop. At first it was just a constant hum. Something to focus on and a tool he could use to pull himself away from the pleading and feeling of being kicked over and over and over again. But the murmuring eventually formed into words the more he concentrated on them. 

 

“...kiddo, I know this is scary but you need to breathe. You’re having a flashback, I have PTSD so I know what that is and I know how scary it is, but I need you to trust me. I’m going to help you feel better, but I need your help to help me help you.”

 

Tony sat criss cross on the floor, rubbing his hands together nervously in an attempt to soothe himself. “I know it feels like you’re not here right now, you probably feel like you can’t breath and like you’re somewhere entirely different right now. But I need you to take in a deep breathe and try to listen to me. Can you do that for me sweetheart?”

 

Peter sucked in a deep breath and slowly nodded his head. His head felt fuzzy and he felt like he couldn’t focus at all. Like his mind was bouncing around the room at a million miles an hour.

 

“Can I touch you Peter?” Tony asked softly, rubbing his hands on his bare legs in anticipation. 

 

Peter quickly nodded again, craving touch from the man. Tony gave a soft pat on the boy’s upper arm. “Good boy, breathing is good sweetheart.”

 

When Peter hummed contentedly at the praise, Tony continued speaking.“Alright, here’s the deal kiddo. First I am going to stand up and go across the room.”  The man shifted his body nervously, “Then as long as I can touch you again, I’m going to help you sit up. I am then going to hug you close to my body and touch the back of your head and maybe your hair. When you’re feeling better I’m going to help clean up your hands and then get you upstairs and into your bed.” He paused for a second, in order to let it all sink in and then continued. “Does that sound ok?”

 

Peter nodded his head again, but Tony was looking for more than that. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I need a verbal response so there’s no confusion about what's happening here. I can’t risk hurting you in anyway kid and I need to make sure you’re ok with everything I’m gonna do.” 

 

The boy understood where the man was coming from, though he hated Mr. Stark for asking this of him. He didn’t feel up to speaking at all, a combination of embarrassment and a scratchy voice. The demand for a verbal response truly sucked. But if he didn’t verbally consent to whatever Mr. Stark was about to do, how could the man truly know he was ok with it. He knew Mr. Stark didn’t truly want to hurt him and this was probably just a precaution he wanted to take. Knowing this, he cleared his throat and let out a hoarse ‘yes’. 

 

When Tony heard the affirmation, he automatically jumped to action. He quickly stood up, immediately commanding his AI to lower the light to a considerably softer level. He then grabbed an ice pack from the freezer across the room and hastily returned back to the boy crouched under the table. He sunk down to floor, positioning himself closer to cowering boy on the floor. Reaching forward, he gently helped the boy sit up. His calloused hands were careful to only touch clothed parts of his skin and stay away from his blistered hands. He made sure to be gentle when handling the frightened boy.

 

When he was fully sitting up, Mr. Stark tendlery pulled Peter close to his skin. He nestled Peter’s head close to his chest and ran his hand lovingly through his hair. He used the the other hand to gently push the icepack into the boys lap. “Usually you would hold it squirt,” he chuckled “but this will have to do. The cold will help you feel more grounded.” Peter hummed in response and pushed his head closer to Tony’s chest- trying to hear his heartbeat. Tony carded his hand through Peter’s hair. Rubbing the pad of his fingers on his scalp. “You don’t have to talk right now, but I promise we’re going to figure this out soo. I love you loads kid and we’re going to figure it out.”

 

Peter listened to the beat of the man’s heart, loud and steady in his ear. “...I love you too Mr. Stark.” His voice cracked, but he put everything he had into those words. He truly did love Mr. Stark and he wanted the man to know that. He appreciated everything the man did for him. He would cherish these moments for the rest of his life, especially if Mr. Stark disowned him in a homophobic rage when he heard the news of his portagee's sexuality.

 

The ice pack sat partially melted, dripping into his jeans. The smell of cologne and motor oil was heavy, a warm hand continued to run through his hair and the sound of Mr. Starks heartbeat was constant and loud. For once, it felt like his senses were in check. It was a weird balance, but everything felt equally present and equally grounding.   

 

Tony went to move, but Peter attached himself to the man like a baby koala. “Please don’t go.” He whispered, terrified of being alone.

 

“I won’t ever leave you Peter, I promised.” Tony leaned back and took Peter’s smaller hands in his own larger ones. He rubbed a single finger over the blistering skin, frowning down at Peter’s hands. “But we really need to treat these before they get worse.” Peter flinched back at that idea, but Tony is having none of it. 

 

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it, at least not now, but I need to grab you some burn ointment for your hands. They look super painful, don’t you want it to feel better at all?”

 

Feeling only slightly coerced, Peter grumbles a small ‘yes’. He truly does want his hands to feel better, he just doesn’t want to talk about it or answer any nosey questions about how he obtained the injuries

 

Tony quickly stands up, dropping Peter’s hands in the process and rushing forward. When he reaches the other side of the room, he rifles through drawer after drawer of medical supplies. It is surprisingly loud and Peter cringes away from the sound. But before he can curl back in on himself, Mr. Stark is sitting in front of him once again. He has set a water bottle and tube of ointment on the floor next to him. He then swiftly opens a bottle of painkillers, popping two straight into the boy's mouth- quickly followed by pressing the open water bottle to his lips. “Drink” He commands softly, tipping the water back for the boy to drink. Peter gulped back almost half the bottle in one sip. He hadn’t realized how dehydrated he was until this moment. But now, when the water bottle was pressed to his lips, he was able to drink half the bottle in one go. 

 

When it was pulled away from his lips, Peter turned to Mr. Stark and gave a large, lopsided smile. Tony smiled softly back at him in response. The man’s figure was framed by the  dim light of the room. His dark hair stuck up in every single direction, even his goatee sat strangely, and he looked like an angel of chaos. For the first time in this entire exchange, Peter truly appreciated how much his mentor had done for him in the past few hours. Seeing the usually sauve billionaire sitting in an old band t shirt and his underwear, with his hair sticking up in every direction and a single tear running down his face, made him see the man in a whole new light.

 

The man opened the small tube of ointment and squeezed a generous amount of the white cream into his own hands. He rubbed his palms together and then gently spread it over Peter’s  burned skin. His mentor paid extra attention to rub it into the festering blisters, yet was gentle when handling the injured flesh. The entire experiences had Peter simultaneously hissing at the small amount of pain the cream caused, while also sighing at the cool, soothing  properties of the cream. 

 

When the man finished applying the cream, he carelessly rubbed the excess off on his plaid boxers. It was clear to Peter that the man cared far more about him, then his own well being or clothing. In a strange sense, the small action was comforting to Peter because it made him quite aware of that fact.

 

Mr. Stark then clapped his hands together and started straight ahead at the boy. “Alright kiddo, time for bed.” 

 

Peter groaned, “..buuuuut Mr. Stark, it’s like noon.”

 

“Now, I will have none of that Peter.” Tony commented, while trying to stifle his laugh. It was clear Mr. Stark was excited to see him acting a little more normal, but still wanted to keep the situation under control. “Kiddo, I got to sleep too and naps at noon are definitely a Stark thing to do.”

 

A smile flashed across Peter’s face. “Does that make me a Stark?” His hoarse, post crying voice asked innocently.  

 

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair, “Definitely kid, you are 100 and 10 percent a Stark...though I’m not sure that’s exactly a good thing”

 

The man then stood up, smoothing the fabric of his boxers under the palms of his hands. “You know kid, I didn’t even realize I was in only my boxers until now.” He chuckled softly and glanced his dark eyes over the boy’s outfit, “maybe we could both use a change before bed, I can grab something for us upstairs.” 

 

When he stood up, Peter’s entire body shook and he wrapped his arms around his small frame. He glanced down at his ratty sneakers. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten into this situation, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave. He felt calmer than he had in weeks and the rough surface of his injured hands felt cool and less aggravated. It made him want to tell Tony about what had been going on his life recently. But he still felt hesitant and terrified of garnering a negative reaction from the man. Despite the amount of love and dedication to their relationship Peter had shown over the past hour, queer relationships tended to bring out the worst in people. It morphed people’s affection towards others and caused them to question the normalcy of those people’s relationships. If Mr. Stark found out he was gay, he might hate him. Or worse, validate what Alex did to him. If he kept quiet, there would be no opportunity for hate between them. Mr. Stark would keep on caring about Peter like he was any good, normal teenager; And the boy was willing to lose his sense of self in order to to receive even a little bit of affection.

 

Mr. Stark placed a large hand on his back and tried to guide him towards the elevator. Peter’s felt like his feet were stuck to the ground. But Mr. Stark kept on gently pushing on his back, murmuring “Please help me, help you kiddo.” 

 

Peter nodded his head, but he wasn’t quite sure he had the ability to actually make his feet work. 

 

Mr. Stark pushed further, but his feet still refused to work. He was stuck, petrified in his place while his body and mind refused to work together. 

 

Mr. Stark clapped his hands together, Peter consequently flinched away from the sound. “Alright kiddo, time for plan B.” Peter hoped plan B didn’t involve getting kicked out or forced to move. But, he wasn’t holding his breath for kindness- Peter didn’t deserve kindness. 

 

“Do I have permission to touch you further?” Tony asked, receiving a swift nod from the boy. 

 

Without a single second passing, strong arms were pulling the boy up and off of the ground. The man’s muscles bulged impressively. Sometimes Peter forgets Mr. Stark is Iron Man, but after being taken care of and swept off of his feet, he can’t forget it. Tony is the definition of a hero, running outside in his underwear and barefoot in order to save a boy he isn’t even related to. He would do anything for Peter, probably die for him, and the man was his hero through and through. 

 

When Mr. Stark started walking, his ass shifted and connected with the man’s lower arm. He let out a startling yell at the contact, shifting his face to hide in Tony’s chest, tears already soaking into the worn out band shirt. He felt humiliated at the contact, cursing himself for the pain he couldn’t help but feeling. 

 

The man’s face flashed with surprise and understanding. He felt like there was a fire growing in his heart. But, he quickly pushed the flames down and shushed the boy in his arms. “It’s ok kid, I’m just gonna shift to make you feel more comfortable.” He then moved the boy, so he wasn’t resting on his arm anymore. “Is this ok sweetheart?” Tony asked soothingly and Peter nodded against his chest in response.

 

The elevator door smoothly slid open when they reached Mr. Stark’s personal floor. The layout was modern and beautiful. A sleek leather couch sat on top of fuzzy white rug. Large, floor to ceiling windows were took up the entire left side of the room.  However, unlike in Alex’s house the windows felt homely. They contributed to the beauty of the space and the expanse of sky rises around him made him feel infinite. He felt like he could run out the windows and start flying at the snap of his fingers.    

 

On the way to Peter’s room, Mr. Stark stopped quickly in the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the sleek stainless steel refrigerator and an apple flavored granola bar from the counter. He stuffed the water and snack into the boy’s arms and grabbed a sweater from the back of a white, wooden counter stool. When the sweater was pushed into Peter’s arms, he smiled when he saw it said ‘MIT Robotics Team’ on the front and ‘Stark’ in flowing cursive on the back. Peter buried his face in the sweater, feeling instantly calmed by the scents of motor oil and distinct cologne mixing. 

 

Still carrying Peter, careful to keep his ass off of his arm, Tony bustled down the hallway. The man passed by door after door, until he abruptly stopped at the second to last door on the left. It was a sleek white door, with a giant sign in the center. The sign was made of a thick white paper and was covered in little swirls of red and black spiderwebs. The large lettering in the center proudly proclaimed it ‘Peter’s Room’. He remembers the day Mr. Stark had first shown Peter his room. He didn’t offer it, knowing that the boy would decline, but rather took him to it with no warning. The only thing he asked the boy to do was create a sign for the door, hence the large Spider-Man themed sign on the door. They had made it together, although Peter did all the art and Mr. Stark only contributed through insanely neat handwriting (for the record his normal handwriting was a hot mess).    

 

Tony pushed the door to the room open. Shaking his head in loving manner as he navigated half completed lego sets and textbooks like a maze. The soft blue walls of the room were covered in posters for indie bands Tony had never heard of, a poster proclaiming every element on the periodic table a different superhero and one poster of Iron Man that Peter claimed was a joke (He knew Tony was aware that it wasn’t actually a joke).

 

He deposited the boy on the rumpled blue and black sheets of his unmade bed. Peter sat there unsure. He was gnawing violently on his bottom lip, wringing his slightly healed hands and staring up at the man in front of him. Tears threatened to splash down his face at any second. He wasn’t ready for Tony to leave. He wanted him to stay. He needed him to stay. He needed to feel safe. safe. safe.  

 

A warm hand brushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, “Hey kiddo, you’re going to be ok. I promise it’s going to be fine. You’ve had a really long day though and I think you need to sleep now.”

 

The man helped the small boy pull off the ratty blue hoodie and put on his mentor’s sweater. He then walked across the room and grabbed Peter’s favorite pink, fluffy hello kitty pants from where they had been precariously thrown near the hamper. The man handed them to him gently, “I’m going to turn around now, so you can have some privacy- but please tell me if you need help.”

 

Peter nodded and the man quickly turned around. Wiggling out of his pants, the boy looked down at his bare legs. The marred skin looked like a galaxy of finger shaped bruises, stark and alarming against the rest of his pale skin. On the sides and back of his thighs there were trails of sticky dried semen and blood staring up at him. He shuddered, scrapping a small amount of it away with his short fingernails, but he quickly abandoned the attempt when he realized it made him feel no more clean than before. He pulled his pants over his legs, biting his lip to stop himself from groaning in pain and hiding the view of his leg from his sight. 

 

He let out a small hum to let Tony know he was done changing and the man spun around on his heals as soon as he heard it. He reached forward and ruffled the boy’s hair fondly. “Now look at that, all comfy and ready for bed.” A blush spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head down to stare at his lap.

 

“Alright kiddo, I’m going to leave now…” Tony started backing away from the boy, glancing at the door and pulling at the bottom of his t shirt. But before he was able to leave, a hand darted out and encircled his toned arm. For a second it felt like time stopped. Peter was left staring into Tony’s dark brown eyes, trying to communicate silently. ‘Please don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave,’ he tried to beg silently.   

 

But all of a sudden, time came rushing back and they were hurtled into reality. Mr. Stark tried to pull away from the boy, and Peter let out a strangled cry. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave,” his voice cried suddenly. 

 

Mr. Stark stopped trying to pull away when he heard the cry. He tilted his head to the side, catching Peter’s eyes in confusion. Peter felt like he couldn't breath anymore. He was sure this was the moment he wound up asking for too much, the moment Mr. Stark finally stopped caring. 

 

But alas, this wasn’t that moment. “Alright Peter, I won’t leave you kid.” Gently, he  pushed the boy down onto his bed. He pulled the sheets and comforter over Peter, tucking him in and smoothing his hair down. He then rushes across the room in order to flip the light switch off the old fashion. He then slumps down onto the floor, leaning his head back onto the bed near Peter’s torso. “Go to bed Peter” He says gently, closing his own eyes. 

 

Peter waits with bated breath for minutes, staring down at the man leaning on the bed. His beard is ruffled and he wants to reach forward and smooth it. But he keeps his hands to himself, and simply watches the man until his breath eventually even out. Finally content in the fact that Mr. Stark is not leaving him alone, he closes his eyes and rolls over. The pillowcase smells like strawberries and web fluid disolvent- nothing like the harsh citrus smell of lemon always present in his nose. It smells like safety, like he is finally at home. 

 

Peter fell asleep with the thought of home in his mind, the smell of strawberries and disolvent in his nose and the sound of Tony breathing in his ear. He let the pain fall away from him, the bruises and throbbing ass and burning hands leave him for just a second. He lets it all fade away, in order to just focus on his senses and fall asleep knowing that he was truly safe in that moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated ! I've been going through a rough patch recently, but I'm glad to be posting again and sharing with you guys !!


	4. It hurts but I won’t fight you

When Peter awoke, the sound of rain was almost as loud as the sound of his beating heart and Mr. Stark’s even breathing mixing together. It was a strange combination to hear. His own heartbeat was a heavy internal drum. His mentor’s breathing was just as steady, but also unsettling in the sense that he was scared of the man waking up. The organic drips and plinks of rain added to the moment in a strange and foreboding manner. The boy frequently wondered if the world was somehow in sync with his emotions. Often, he felt like he saw the brightest rays of sunshine dancing across the sky on his happiest days. Rainbows peaked through cloudy skyscapes when he was most proud and storms shook the ground when he was at his lowest points. Right now was definitely one of those low moments, and the world appeared to be in sync with that knowledge. 

 

Outside, storm clouds seemed to mingle with skyscrapers and rain poured down in heavy sheets by the bucket full. The liquid streamed down the large glass windows like huge chasms splitting the earth or giant, rocky waterfalls. Dark, gloomy shadows were cast over the boy’s room by the early evening light and everything had an ominous appearance to it. Stacks of textbooks looked tilted and larger than life. The figures on his posters seemed to have snarled smiles and his sheets looked twisted and mangled. 

 

The man next to him shifted in his sleep. The tan skin around his facial hair pulled and puckered, as his grumbly voice murmured something nonsensical. Still shrouded with sleep, his head flipped to the other side of the bed. It landed with a soft plunk on the black and blue sheets, but he continued on sleeping as if nothing had happened. 

 

At the sight of movement from the man, Peter held his breath in painfully, afraid of making a single noise. He snapped his eyes away from the sleeping figure and and stared at the wall next to his bed. He traced his eyes over the poster hanging inches away from his face. It was a poster of Iron Man standing heroically, with his gauntlet menacingly facing out. The poster made the man look otherworldly and dangerous. It was in stark contrast to the man laying next to him, who had drool stuck in his beard and sliding down his chin. He was only wearing a worn out t shirt and plaid boxers stained with the residue of burn cream. The man who had slept for hours on the floor next to his bed and who in this moment was acting like more of a hero than he ever did in a super suit. 

 

He refused to look at the real life avenger sitting next to him and kept his eyes trained on the poster, because he was terrified of the man. Or rather, he was terrified of the vulnerability of this moment. He was terrified of the calm and gentle way the man touched him. He was terrified of the man figuring out that he truly didn’t deserve to be treated in a nice way.

 

The boy’s eyes burned. He tried to squint them closed, shut them so tight that no tears could escape from them. The prospect of crying in this moment, experiencing his pain in such an undeniably physical manner, made his heart churn. When he experienced pain physically, he wanted it to be in little semicircle indents from his nails on the inside of his palms. He wanted it to be in poking and prodding at the bruises on his skin, or gnawing at his lip until it bleed. He never wanted to cry, because crying didn't hurt and he was addicted to the release of pain. Crying meant that he was finally admitting that something was wrong, without punishing himself for it. Crying meant that he couldn’t trick himself into thinking he deserved the pain or the rough treatment that both Alex and himself gifted his body with. 

 

A tear landed with a soft plink on his pants, so much like the raindrops falling steadily outside. The pink fabric of his pants darkened and a little patch of blood on the inside of his thigh re-wet itself. The substance weaved through the fabric like water rushing through a crack in sidewalk pavement. Peter prodded a single finger at the little pool of liquid. He watched the blood stain his pale skin with baited breath and teary eyes. He was mesmerized by the thick red liquid dancing through the arch and whorls of his fingerprint. It looked like watercolors, yet the substance was thicker than paint and it was more disturbing than artistic. 

The boy shifted his legs, pushing them to be splayed further out on the bed. He lifted his still throbbing ass up and off of the rumpled blue and black sheets. Using his rapidly healing hands, he tried to wiggle out of his favorite pair of pink Hello Kitty pajama pants. However, it was easier said than done and the boy was easily thwarted with the seemingly simple task. When the fabric he was pulling back reached his skinny thighs, it tore and burned painfully. He wanted to vomit when he saw the little clumps of hair, dried semen and blood stuck to the inside of his favorite pink, cartoon pair of fuzzy pajama  pants. It looked so out of place on such juvenile clothing. It was a stark contrast between the painting of an abstract crime, crudely portrayed in a mess of dried bodily fluids and torn hair, and the innocence of childhood naivety present in the pants. It made him feel younger. Like a child whose image of joy and laughter was being ripped away from him. It made him feel vulnerable in a way that made his skin crawl, his head pound and his heart race. 

 

Peter kicked the pants the rest of the way off and his ass slammed back onto the bed. The contact sent pins and needles throughout his entire body. He arched his back in pain, like a cat arches its back when stretching. The shadows on the ceiling looked like ghosts and he tried to focus on the shifting lights dancing across the room, on the weight of his lip under his teeth, and the little pockets of blood that pooled around his teeth. 

 

He chided himself for finding relief in the tingling taste of his own blood and the painful stretch of the cuts on his mouth when his lips shifted. But, the pain was strangely addictive and at least he could control it himself.  

 

When Peter had first been trying to figure out his sexauilty, like every other confused and horny gay boy in the world, he had watched a lot of porn. He had started out with watching threesomes; looming under the covers in his childhood bedroom at 3 in the morning, hoping his Aunt didn’t hear his reactions. He had then moved on to the strictly gay category when he eventually realized he had no interest in the female members of the videos. Ultimately, and with careful research, the boy had landed in the harder categories of the porn world. 

 

Watching kinky porn had been like a light switch for Peter. As someone who had had quite the fucked up childhood, he was captivated by the idea of controlling your own pain in a sensual way. Redirecting his trauma to pleasure was therapeutic and being in control of losing control was so appealing it hurt. Not to mention that he had been fascinated beyond belief with the way gay men looked when only wearing leather harnesses, or handcuffed to bed posts with blue and purple bite marks marking their skin. He loved the thought of trusting someone enough to hurt you in a loving way; he had been hurt far too many times when there was no love involved.  He had never experienced sensuality through pain, rather he had only experienced pain through pain. Nothing about his relationship with Alex was sensual, it was only painful. 

 

Alex hurt him regularly. Slamming his head against the wall until it bled and forcing his thighs to stay open with a bruising grip. He kicked and punched and spit to his heart's content, and then fucked him roughly and painfully. Grabbing and pushing and fucking and pulling until Peter was truly and utterly broken.

 

The boy stared down at his naked thighs, almost screaming at the sight. The black and blues painfully painting his skin stared up at him like little thumb shaped bullet wounds or black holes in the fabric of the universe. His bruises weren’t the sign of a trusting, loving relationship. No, his bruises were there with the sole intent of hurting him. They were there to keep him in his place and remind him the consequences of not listening to the one who gave them to him. 

 

The boy shifted, rolling over onto his side and pulling his legs close to his torso. His bruises hit his chest painfully and the sheets of his bed shifted and rumpled under his body’s weight. He was trying to make himself feel smaller. Take up the least amount of space possible and protect himself from a phantom threat. He tipped his head back onto the soft pillow, trying to protect himself. But he felt blindsided by naivety and the tears dripping down the slope of his face felt too real, too familiar. 

 

_ Peter’s knees burned with friction as he was jerked across the hardwood floor. A rough hand held his hair by the fistful. It ripped and burned as he was forcefully pulled forward. His bare legs caught on splinters and the hard, wooden bottoms of perfect yellow chairs at the kitchen table. _

 

_ Alex’s other hand firmly grasped his chin. He could feel the skin pulling and protesting under the contact and the starts of bruises painting his skin. _

 

_ The pad of Alex’s thumb slid into the boy’s closed mouth. Rough fingers pried open his jaw, and his mouth was forced into a large, gaping ‘O’ shape.   _

 

_ Sunshine streamed beautifully through the large windows of the kitchen, reflecting off of the high quality stainless steel appliances and the curve of Peter’s teeth as the man looming over him thrust over and over and over again into his captive’s mouth.  _

 

_ Drool dripped down his chin, landing in soft pools on his bare thighs and the top of his knees where they bent. His head was tipped all the way back and everytime Alex thrust forward, he choked when hitting his gag reflex. _

 

_ Eventually, a loud moan disturbed the air and a white substance was being spilled all over his tongue and down his chin. The substance mixed with his tears and the drool and the blood and he felt dirtier than he ever did before.  _

 

Peter shot off of the pillow, his entire body flailing like it had been electrocuted. His limbs convulsed and his screams were so loud they sounded like the thunder rumbling outside. The boy’s entire body was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was simultaneously frozen and on fire and he snapped his neck from side to side in rigid, jerky movements. He desperately tried to chase the phantom weight off his tongue and the taste of semen from his lip.

 

“...Peter?” Mr. Starks quiet voice said next to him. But Peter ignored it, still trying to chase the taste of semen from his mouth and the weight from his tongue. 

 

In a last ditch attempt, the boy’s fingers were shoved past his lips. He searched frantically in his mouth for a second, before his short fingers pressed his gag reflex and vomit spewed from his lips onto the black and blue bed sheets.

 

His mouth still tasted like semen and he reached to press at his gag reflex again, he needed the taste gone. gone. gone. But a calloused hand wrapped around his wrists, pulling them away and close the owner's chest. 

 

“...Peter you’re scaring me love. I’m so sorry that I touched you without permission, because I know that must be scary sweetheart but you can’t make yourself throw up like that! You can scream and cry all you want. Hell, you can hate me for what it's worth. But you can never, never, NEVER hurt yourself. Nope. Nada. Not an option. You don’t get to hurt yourself or treat your body like that kid, it’s not an option. Not now, not ever.” 

 

Peter was pulled close to the man. His wrists were being tightly held by the man and his arms were trapped between the two bodies. Mr. Stark was using his free hand to gently card through Peter’s hair. The boy leaned into the feeling of fingers running through his curls. He tried to focus on the positive sensation rather than his want to desperately pull his hand away from Tony and shove it back down his throat. Rid his mouth of the salty, repulsive taste and have it splash to the floor in front of him. But Mr. Stark kept him pinned to his body and wouldn’t let his hands go. He continued running his through the boy's curls, and whispering ‘I won’t let you hurt yourself’ over and over and over again in his ears. 

 

The boy’s head was pressed right against his mentor's chest. His ear brushed against the soft fabric of the man’s t shirt and he nuzzled in closer, trying to fill his nose with the calming scent of the man. He tried to match his breathing to Tony’s steady, if not slightly erratic, heartbeat. The mixture of the steady thumping and the scent greatly helped him calm down. The boy still wanted to vomit, but slowly and steadily the taste of semen faded away from his tongue. He focused on the tangy taste of the drip of blood still on his lip, even the acidity of his own vomit. He focused on anything to could keep his mind off of the white substance he could swear was still in his mouth. 

 

“Peter, sweetheart…” Mr. Stark’s voice sounded less foggy now, like he finally wasn’t listening from underwater. “ You’re doing so good kid, but I need you to focus on your breathing just a little bit more. I don’t want you to pass out from lack of air and I’m scared that might happen if we aren’t super careful right now”

 

Tony’s voice was sweet as honey. Peter could feel the vibrations rumbling through his entire body every time the man talked. Peter pressed his ear even closer, eager to feel the vibrations of the man’s voice.

 

“I’m going to take a bunch of deep breaths now kiddo. When I breath you’re gonna have to try and follow me. Does that sound like a plan?” Peter was desperate to be more in control of his breathing, so he quickly nodded in agreement. When his head moved up and down the fabric of the man’s t shirt rustled and he adjusted himself to be able to hear even better. 

 

The inhale of Tony’s chest expanded, large and obtrusive next to his ear. He could hear the little rattle of the man’s lungs, loud and soft all at the same time; he felt like there was a clock inside of him, ticking away the exact measurements of his breathing and forcing him to breath in only a certain manner. After 10 precise counts, the man exhaled. Over eager to release his breath, little drops of blood and vomit speckled the older man’s shirt when Peter exhaled. He cringed at the sight, he tried to close his eyes to rid the picture from his sight, but it was burned into the back of his eyelids.

 

Seeming to sense his discomfort, the hand in his hair lowered. Mr. Stark rubbed the pads of his finger into the skin on his lower neck and back. The warm skin was soothing and he felt like dough being kneaded.

 

“Hey kid,” Tony’s voice sounded strange, the inflection prolonged and choppy due to his continued pattern of measured breathing, “you’re sounding so much better with the breathing Peter and I’m so proud of you for working on it. I want to grab you some water though, so we can get that nasty taste of vomit out of your mouth. It probably doesn’t taste very good and I promise you’ll feel better when it’s gone. Does that sound ok?”

 

Peter felt his breathing begin to labor once again at the question. He felt like he was orbiting out of control in a single second, unable to control what was happening. But luckily, Mr. Stark barely let it happen. The minute he started panicking, the man was already holding him closer to his body. He started breathing deeper as an example and rubbed, larger more soothing circles into the skin of his back. 

 

Peter truly did want the water, in fact he wanted to drink 5 bottles of water. But the boy was terrified that the water wouldn’t actually fix the problem. Sure he wanted to get the taste of vomit out his mouth. Even more so, he wanted to feel cleaner and less like a gross mess. But he was scared that it wouldn’t actually work because, the problem wasn’t truly the vomit. The problem was the taste of semen still lingering on his tongue like a bad aftertaste he couldn’t shake. The problem was the weight of a penis he could still feel in his mouth. It was the ever present feeling of being used that he wanted to get rid of.  

 

The boy wasn’t quite sure how to vocalize this in a way that didn’t expose him as the dirty faggot that he was. But he needed to try, because if the water didn’t cut it, he had know idea how to explain the issue to his mentor.

 

When he spoke, Peter’s voice was garbled and gravelly like he had eaten a handful of sand. He had a hard time pressing the words out, but he pushed and pushed and pushed hoping the man would understand. “I-i-i-t-ts no-no-not the vomit. No. no. no. ma-ma- ma-ake i-i-i-it g-g-g-go away. Pl-pl-please make it leave. Ple-ase Mr. Stark, please….” 

 

His voice trailed off at the end, but it was clear that the man understood when he pulled slightly away from Peter. He kept the boy’s wrists firmly locked in place, but otherwise held the boy out at arms distance. “I don’t understand kid, what is the problem then?” His mentor’s voice was low and quizzical.

 

Peter’s heart was beating out of his chest. He wasn’t quite sure of how to answer the question. Words were refusing to work for him right now and he couldn’t use his body to explain the situation. If his hands had been free, the boy might’ve attempted to signal abstractly at his crotch and then back up to his throat. But his hands were securely pinned down and he had no way of expressing his problem except through his words. 

 

So the boy opened his mouth, trying to form any sort of coherent sentence that would help the man understand his problem. But in the end he could only out three words that made his blood chill, “Cu-cu-m, i-i-it tastes li-like cum.” 

 

Peter’s hands were quickly dropped from the firm hold. His limbs dangled near his naked legs dumbly and his eyes were trained on his bare feet. He didn’t dare look up, make eye contact with the fuming man standing in front of him. He could feel Tony’s anger like a volcano that was about to erupt. The room felt heavier than before and his mentor’s labored breathing was louder than the storm outside. 

 

“Peter,” His voice sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “You need a rape kit right fucking now kid.” 

 

Peter backed away at the words, shaking his head profusely. He did NOT need a rape kit. Rape kits weren’t for boys and especially not boys like him. Little faggots who couldn’t handle a little rough sex. No, he did not need a rape kid because his boyfriend went a little hard on him in the bedroom. 

 

Tony stepped closer to the retreating boy, gently laying a hand on his upper arm and trying to lead him out of the room. “Yes Peter. You are getting a rape kit right fucking now. This game of ours has gone on for too long. I tried to let you calm down, talk to me on your own, but I thought you just got your ass kicked or something.” His eyes trail down to Peter’s naked lower half and the boy quickly scrambled to cover the bruises, dried semen and blood covering his crotch and thigh area. “For god's sake Peter, you have blood and cum all over your legs, you’re covered in bruises, your ass hurts when it’s touched and you’re having panic attacks tasting semen. Not to mention the whole trying to make yourself vomit thing and your self busted lip. Sweetheart, I know this terrifying, but you were clearly raped and you need a rape kit right fucking now to catch this scum bag. We won’t know who he is if we don’t do this. We need to know who he is Peter.” 

 

Peter’s heart stopped.The boy wanted to scream and shout until his throat bleed. Tony thought a stranger did this. He wanted the boy to get a rape kit because he thought someone unknown man cornered him and raped him. What was he going to say when he found out the not only did Peter know the person who did this, but he was dating the person. What would his mentor say when he discovered his protege was in a homosexual relationship with the person who did this. 

 

The boy had to reason with Tony. He wasn’t getting a rape kit. No. No. No. No. No rape kit. He wouldn’t incriminate Alex in a crime he didn’t commit. They were a relationship, so this couldn’t be rape because he consented by virtue of dating Alex. He deserved what he got anyways because he was a fucking freak.

 

Unbeknownst to him, his pleading had been vocalized and Tony quickly shut it down, “Yes Peter. You are getting a rape kit no matter what you say, you don’t have a choice in the matter sweetheart. We are going to go downstairs right fucking now, I’m going to call someone I trust to perform the exam and we are going to discover the scumbag that did this.”

 

Peter saw red at that moment, screaming the first thing that could come to his mind. “He didn’t rape me Mr. Stark, he loves me and I don’t fucking care what he does to me!”

 

Tony’s expression was shocked, his body shaking in little tremors as his eyes turned murderous. “Are you seriously telling me,” His voice was low and terrifying, “that you are fucking dating the man who did this to you?”

 

It was phrased as a question, but the minute Tony saw Peter’s guilty expression, his entire body deflated like a balloon. “Oh sweetheart,” The man pulled him into a hug, “how could this happen to you? How could I have failed you this hard? How did this fucking happen?” 

 

Tears soaked into Peter’s skin faster than the rain outside. The man was holding him so tight, like he was scared the boy would melt away if he let go. “He doesn’t love you Peter. I promise he doesn’t love you sweetheart.” The pads of the man’s fingers gently ghosted across the bruises and dried substances on his thighs. “Love doesn't hurt Peter. Please, sweetheart you have to believe me. This is not love. He doesn’t love you Peter, I promise that he doesn't love you sweetheart.”

 

Peter’s tears dripped down his chin, landing with soft thuds next to his mentor’s. His hands wrapped around around Tony’s and he pried them away from his thighs, “You don’t understand Mr. Stark, Alex loves me..he’s just...he’s just mean sometimes… and I deserve it anyways... ” The infliction of his voice turned down at the end and his sentence trailed off. 

 

Mr. Stark pulled completely away from the boy, the only point of contact left was a single finger catching tears from his eyes. “I know you probably won’t understand this for a long time, but I promise you this boy does not love you. He is an abusive, manipulative, piece of shit who preys on those weaker than himself. No one, and I mean NO one who loves you would ever hurt you in this way. If anyone ever tries to convince you that they hurt you out of love, if any one ever dares manipulate you into thinking the bruises they give you are beautiful, or the words they hurt you with are loving; if anyone ever fucking forces you to have sex with them, even when you don’t want it, I need you to run the fuck away. I never want to hear the words ‘I deserve it’ ever come out of your mouth again.”

 

“But- but I really do deserve it Mr. Stark. Don’t you hate me for being gay? For being a faggot? Don’t you want me to punished for being a freak?” He pleaded, not being able to wrap his head around the kindness the man was showing him. 

 

At the words, Mr. Stark looked like he was going to faint. He looked like a tree swaying before it came crashing down to the earth. Goosebumps ran across the man’s tan flesh and tears fell from his eyes like waves crashing during high tide. In that moment, it felt like time stopped. The expression on Tony’s face was frozen in permanent shock. The only movement was in the movement of rain drops causing shadows to flicker across the floor and dance on the ceiling. But eventually, he softly asked Peter “Can I please have your hand sweetheart?” The boy eagerly compiled, willing to do anything for the man in this moment. He would do anything to make time feel like it was moving once again.

 

Tony took the boy’s small hands in his larger ones and closed them in his palms. He had the boy rub his own fingers over the blistering flesh of his palms. His skin felt rough and broken, like a mountain range or course sand. Peter shivered at the contact, unsure of his opinion on the texture of his own wounded skin. Tony then guided the boy’s hands up to his lip. The man’s rough fingers guided him to prod at his split lip and the tiny cracks and cuts in the skin. Blood soaked into the tips of his fingers and he winced when he pressed at the tender flesh. Peter’s hands were then dragged down to his thighs. Tony had him run them over the stickiness of drying cum and blood, which added to the blood already on her finger. He was directed to push lightly on his bruises and truly feel the pain they caused him and he dragged his nails against the little cuts close to his knees caps. Finally, the man brought Peter’s hand to his chest. He directed the boy to hold it flat against his chest in order to feel every pump of his heart and every breath he took. 

 

The air in the room was tense. Everything looked a little off, disturbed in some strange fundamental way. The black and blue sheets on the bed were stained with smears of blood and little puddles of rancid smelling vomit. Textbooks lay strewn across the rooms, the stacks having been knocked over in his panic. His favorite pair of pinky Hello Kitty pants were bloodied and lay on the floor across the room from where they had originally been. It looked like a wild animal had been set loose, with the sole intent of ruining everything. It made him sad to see. This room was usually a safe haven and escape from the rest of the world, but now it seemed tainted. 

 

Outside, the sun was setting and Tony was shrouded in hues of blues and purples mixing with the stormy sky. He looked chaotic yet serene as he spoke in a soft tone, “I want you to listen to me Peter and I want you to try and understand what I’m saying. This is your body sweetheart. This is your very own body and it is the only one you will ever get. If you mess it up you don’t get another body. No, this is your very own body for now and forever more. That means that your body needs to be something you cherish. No one, not even yourself, gets to hurt or cause harm to your body.” A hand lightly brushed across Peter’s head. “Your mind counts as your body Peter,” The hand was now brushing across his chest. “And so is your heart. No one gets to hurt you there either. And that includes you kid. I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself a freak or a faggot again. I would love you if you had seven arms, nevertheless if you loved the same gender. And even if I didn’t, I don’t get to hurt you. No one gets to hurt you.” The man stopped to draw in a deep breath of air and the continued, “I know you think you know what’s best, but as soon as this conversation is done, we’re going downstairs and you’re going to get a rape kit. I love you too much to take any risks. Even if we don’t use his DNA or anything, what happens if you have an STD? Or god forbid, what if you have HIV? We need to know these things kiddo and I promise to call someone I trust and know and I’ll be there every step of the way. But, we truly do need to do this before we can do anything else.”

 

Peter sighed, angry at the man for being so logical. He wanted to keep his head held high and refuse to get the testing. But, he knew that Mr. Stark was correct. Regardless of how embarrassing this was, he needed to stay physically, mentally and sexually safe. And even if Peter kept on trying to convince himself that this wasn't rape, or that he deserved it, the boy still didn’t want to get an STD. He had never been tested before, so he liked to think he was clean. But, there was a large chance he wasn’t. Alex had been penetrating him without protection for months- which was quite terrifying in all honesty. When their relationship had first started, and Peter still felt like he had a say, he used to beg Alex to use a condom. He would constantly try to remind his boyfriend that unprotected sex, especially unprotected gay sex, just wasn’t safe. He didn’t want to die an early death because his first teenage boyfriend wouldn't use a condom.

 

But Alex never listened to him when the boy begged him to use protection. In fact, his begging had frequently resorted in harsh punishments. Socks or ties were often stuffed in his mouth to make the boy ‘shut the fuck up.’ Sometimes, Alex would cruelly make him swallow his semen just to scare the boy even more. Every time he complained, it became worse and worse, Alex’s patience pulling thin like a rubber band about to snap. It was a rough cycle and Peter learned quickly to stop complaining. By keeping his mouth shut, he could protect himself in a small sort of way. 

 

Peter’s skin crawled at the realization that he very easily could have some sort of STD. He didn’t want a rape kit because he wasn’t raped… but maybe, just maybe this could be a good thing. Peter probably would never know it if he had some sort of STD if he didn’t take advantage of this moment. Wanting to stay safe wasn’t a bad thing, right? Maybe he could even get the person to not collect the DNA evidence. He could explain the predicament, that he wasn’t actually raped and that his boyfriend was just a little rough. Then he could get the test results without any other mention of the word ‘rape.’ That was ok right? He would just be getting the test for his own safety, nothing else. 

  
  


With that knowledge in  mind, the boy knew what he had to do and whispered,  “Alright…I’ll do the test.” His voice cracked at the end and his eyes threatened to spill over with tears. He knew that it had to be done for his own safety, but it still felt mortifying to say aloud. 

 

A hand landed in a soft pat on his upper arm. Peter started up at the man through his teary  eyes and tried to give a small smile. “Good boy Peter, I promise everything is going to be alright.”

 

Peter wasn’t sure he believed the man quite yet. But as they headed towards the elevator and Tony flipped open his cell phone to call someone he trusted, Peter can’t help but feel safe for the first time in a very long time. He was terrified of the results of this test, mortified for needing it in the first place, but he would keep his head held tall. He would put his well being first and trust himself and Mr. Stark to know what was best for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been hella stressed out for a while and updates have been slow for all my WIPs and scheduled one shots (yes I have a nerdy writing schedule because I have like 6 stories I'm writing and 5 one shots planned currently)
> 
> also unrelated but this may be a good place to hype myself up and search for a project I'm working on- I have an idea for an angsty hurt/comfort fic about trans peter being pregnant in high school. I can't get it out of my head and am looking for a cowriter for it because I want to collaborate, but can't find one - so if that may be you hit me up. If I don't find one, lets be real- i'm sure I'll write it anyways.
> 
> comments and good vibes always appreciated :D


	5. To smile while you suffocate and die

Peter dangled his feet haphazardly off of the examination table he was perched on.  He raised his legs straight out into the air in front of his face, wiggling his sockless toes and trying to focus on anything but the weight of his own body on the table. But it was hard to focus elsewhere, when the cool metal of the table caused goosebumps to break across the bare skin of his lower legs and thighs and his teeth chattered in the cool temperature. 

 

The boy desperately wanted to be wearing a giant sweater at this moment. Or to curl up under a mound of blankets, wearing fuzzy socks and drinking warm tea. The room was freezing, it felt like if he was exhaling little icy clouds of air every few seconds. His chilly hands pulled and pushed at the fabric of the short black gym shorts he was wearing, and at the bottom of the faded green t shirt adorning his skinny frame.  

 

The attire was not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren’t a disaster either. When Mr. Stark had first dragged the boy back down to the medical bay, he had pushed a sterile white hospital gown into his hands. The man explained that he should change into the gown while he waited for his friend to await at the tower. However, the boy adamantly refused to change (hence the clothing he was now wearing). Regardless of the fact that Mr. Stark had seen him naked mere minutes before, something about the robe made him panic. He hated the thought of being so naked, so exposed. Anyone could easily rip open the robe and add to the dozens of bruises and cuts marking his pale flesh. The fact that an unidentified person was going to be there as well, made it even worse. Peter did not want to be vulnerable in front of anyone, especially a presumed stranger.    
  


He learned nearly an hour and thirty minutes later, that the ‘friend’ Mr. Stark had called was not a stranger. Peter’s face blushed bright red due to him being self conscious beyond belief. The two had never technically met before, but Peter sure as hell knew who he was. In fact Peter practically idolized him. 

 

The man standing in front of him was small in stature, however not as small as the boy himself. He was wearing a rumpled purple shirt, scoffed black dress shoes and what were clearly second hand grey slacks. The buttons on his shirt were all done up wrong, it wasn’t tucked into his pants and his left shoe was untied. All served as a testament of truly how quickly the man must’ve gotten ready. Adding to the messy look, his dark, curly hair  stuck up in every direction and his wireframe glasses lay lopsided on his nose.

 

The usually calm man had entered the room frantically. He looked like a child on a sugar high, manic in an uncharacteristic way. But as soon as a he saw Tony, who was leaning against a desk piled high with papers in the corner of the room, all of the mania slid away. He took in a deep breath, fixed his glasses and reached forward to hug the man.

 

The sound of Tony’s hand hitting the other man’s back resonated loudly in the room. The two men embraced like they hadn’t seen each other in a century and Tony leaned forward to whisper something in the other’s ear. In response he hummed in understanding and then spun on his heels to face the examination table. 

 

Dark eyes met his own and the man in front of him gave a little wave, awkwardly running his fingers over his upper arm, “Hi Peter! I’m Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can just call me Bruce.” 

 

Peter’s jaw dropped at the words. He had known who Dr. Banner was from the second he had entered the room, but it was still surreal to hear the words spoken.

 

“Tony,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the man, “Called me to help out with something…” he trailed off awkwardly at the end, clearly uncomfortable with describing the nature of the exam. 

 

“So that I am clear upfront, I am not exactly a medical doctor per say, fun fact my title of doctor actually comes from having 7 PHDs,” his soft voice rumbled in a small chuckle, and Peter was stunned by the eccentricity of the brilliant man. “But I know a significant amount about medical examination from my time helping those in need while I was...abroad..” he finally says for lack of a better term, “and I am certainly qualified to perform this examination for you.”

 

Peter’s head automatically drops down to stare at his lap. His face flushed and his ears tinted bright red when he heard the man mention the mortifying nature in which they were meeting. His hands pulled at the fabric of his black gym shorts, trying to cover his black and blue speckled thighs and the tracks of blood and semen that marred his skin. He had never been more embarrassed in his life, meeting one of his childhood heroes never should of worked out this way. 

 

A gentle hand ran through his hair, pushing several curls back behind his ear. Hot air hit the boys neck and the whispered words of, “You got this, I believe in you kiddo!” making his heart soar.  

 

With Mr. Stark still running his calloused hand through the boy's hair, Peter had the courage to look up once again. Bruce must’ve moved across the room while the boy was freaking out, because he now stood right in front of him. The man’s stance was casual and his surprisingly small hands held a medium sized white cardboard box. 

 

The box was about the size of a first aid kit. The side of the white cardboard proclaimed ‘Sexual Assault Evidence Collection Kit’ in large navy blue lettering and the top had a bright orange ‘biohazard’ sticker in the corner. There were instructions written on the top of the box in the same navy blue lettering and the word ‘male’ was underlined in sloppy red ink.

 

Peter stared down at the floor. He wiggled his toes, clutched the fabric of his pants tightly, and squinted his eyes closed. Maybe if he didn’t look at it, that stupid box would disappear.  Or he simply could pretend it didn’t exist and that he wasn’t in this crappy situation.

 

Mr. Stark’s warm hand squeezed the boy’s upper arms. “Hey kiddo,” he whispered into the boy’s ears, “I know you’re scared, but we need to do this to make sure you’re safe and healthy.” His voice faltered on the next few words, “I wish I could do it myself sweetheart, but I’m not qualified and you’re gonna have to trust Brucie-Bear to do it. He’s one of my best friends Peter and I promise, promise, promise it’s going to be alright.”

 

When Peter finally looked up at the man in front of him, he was gifted with a small smile and a pat on the back from his mentor, followed by a softly murmured ‘good boy’. Peter preened at the praise, training his breath to even out. He tried to convince himself to calm down. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe. 

 

Bruce then slowly approached the table, making sure to keep his actions large and obvious. He kept his hands visible at all times, terrified of scarring the fragile boy. 

 

When he reached the table, he laid the offending box down on the crinkling paper covering a small strip of the metal. The sounds made Peter’s hair stand on edge. Every inch of his pale flesh shivered in anticipation and fear. But he ignored the apprehension in favor of staying focused on his breathing. 

 

The box next to him emitted a loud noise as it was opened. Bruce’s small hands reached out, pulling a piece of paper from the stack of objects in the box. It was loudly unfolded and Peter cringed at the sound. He was terrified of what the paper will read and he wanted nothing more than to leap off the examination table and run away. He wanted to go find Alex, and chase after the feelings of love and safety that no longer existed. He wanted to escape the harsh questioning and probing of the two men in the room. 

 

But, that option quickly became exhausted when the man next to him gently started to talk. “Alright Peter, the first step is all about consent.” Peter eyed the man questioningly, but he simply continued talking, “In this exam I am going to ask you to do and speak about a lot of things that you might find scary, uncomfortable or intrusive” Peter’s entire body shuddered at those words. “I want you to truly give it your all and cooperate as much and as well as you possibly can. However, you have to right to say no to anything I ask you do to. I’m not here to traumatize you further and  I promise you that everything I do will be with express verbal consent on your part. Do you understand?”

 

Peter moved to nod his head, but knowing the man was looking for verbal consent he stumbled out a ‘yes Dr. Banner’. 

 

“Alright then, can I please get a verbal consent to start the examination?”

 

Peter felt like his voice disappeared. His throat was dry and he felt like there were a hundred butterflies flapping their little wings in his stomach. But, the boy still managed to let out a soft ‘yes’, dropping his gaze down to his lap. The single word caused his heart to race. His hands shook nervously and he tried to push his nails into his palms- chasing the sweet feeling of a painful release. But in the blink of an eye, one of Tony’s large hands dropped from his hair and wrapped around the boy’s skinny wrist.  He rubbed circles onto the back of his skin with the pads of his fingers and he used the other to gently sweep a stray curl out of his face. The man’s lips ghosted against his ear as he whispered “I’m proud of you kid.” 

 

Regardless of the verbal consent he had given Bruce, the boy was still quite nervous about the exam. His stomach churned in fear and apprehension clawed at his conscious. His skinny fingers tried to dig into his bruised skin, but Tony’s grip tightened around his wrist.  

 

This entire situation was confusing, because Peter genuinely didn’t know what he wanted. On one hand, he wanted to make sure he was STD free and HIV negative. But he didn’t need to go through this entire process and he certainly didn’t need one of his idols viewing him as a poor, traumatized victim.  

 

When it came down to it, Peter refused to believe that he was a victim. He was in a relationship with Alex for gods sake and he certainly hadn’t raped him. So why the fuck did he need to get a rape test done anyways? It didn’t make sense to the boy. It made his heart race and his blood boil. Why wasn't he allowed to be loved by anyone? He was so fucked up, such a freak that no one actually loved him. So why did he have to ruin the closest thing he had ever had to love by getting a rape kit. He hadn't been raped, end of story. So why the fuck did he need this stupid exam anyways?

 

“Alright Peter,” Bruce started talking while unfolding the piece of paper in his small fingers. He squinted his eyes through his glasses to read the first item, “First we have to establish the narrative, you can tell me as little or as much as you feel up to. This stage primarily helps me determine what is applicable for the rest of the exam, but it can also be quite therapeutic to talk about the event if you feel comfortable.”

 

When Dr. Banner finished speaking, Peter growled at the man like a wild animal. His teeth were bared and his breathing was erratic. The boy’s fists were clenched at his sides. The pads of Tony’s fingers rubbed soothing circles into the pale inside of Peter’s wrist, but he tore his hands away. The hold on his hands felt too familiar. He felt trapped like a wild animal backed into a corner.

 

_ Peter’s naked body was splayed across the bed. His pale complexion complimented the soft yellows and whites of the bed like a patch of wild flowers. However, the inky blue and black bruises on his thighs stood out in heavy contrast. Like storm clouds heavy in the sky on a warm summer day. _

 

_ A single one of Alex's hands pushed both of the boys wrists firmly together. They were tightly pinned above his head, trapped on top of a fluffy yellow pillow. However, the soft pillow case felt like sandpaper under his skin. The only movement of his hands were in his fingers. He traced them up and down the soft fabric, trying to regain any sense of control over the situation.  _

 

_ Warm air brushed against Peter’s bare collarbone. The boy squirmed, trying to escape the tight grasp of his boyfriend pinning him down. But Alex simply chuckled, and held on to the boy tighter. He lowered his head down, staring up through his long eyelashes and the terrified boy. _

_ His lips traced against Peter’s skin, nipping and sinking his teeth down painfully. Hs entire body jolted when teeth scraped across his nipple and bit down harsly. The boy frantically tried to squirm away, but Alex held his arms so tight he thought they were going to snap and bit down harder.    _

 

_ He felt like his skin was on fire. The patterns of bruises and bite marks adorning his skin were fiery comets in the starry night sky and his eyes leaked raindrop tears. The boy’s head was tipped back and Alex’s teeth sunk into his pale flesh like predator and prey. A scream ripped from his chest, piercing through the air.  _

 

_ The hand not grasping his wrists, clamped over his mouth. Fingers dug into the side of face and Alex leaned down licking and kissing the skin around his fingers. Spittle flew across the skin of his face and chest as he spoke,“Shut the fuck up Peter. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”  _

 

Peter escaped the flashback like a rubber band snapping, quickly, loudly and with force. 

He held his hands close to his chest, making himself smaller and physically scooting his body away from Tony. He shook like an autumn leave and he gnawed at his bottom lip aggressively. 

 

“I can’t fucking establish a narrative Dr. Banner because there is no story to be told.” Bruce’s face flashed with hurt at the harshness of Peter’s words and for a second the boy felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dr. Banner, the man looked like a teddy bear and Peter certainly wouldn’t internationally hurt him. But, he had to make it very clear from the get go that there was no story to tell. 

 

“I’m sorry sir,” his voice was quiet and apprehensive, “but I simply don’t have a story to tell. I had completely consensual sex with my boyfriend and Mr. Stark is just overreacting. I’m only doing this to make him happy anyways…” Peter scowled and stared down at his lap at those words. He wanted to convince himself that his decision was only for Mr. Stark’s benefit, but that was  a not necessarily true sentiment. He decided to get the exam both for Mr. Stark AND for himself. As selfish and disrespectful he was being to Alex, Peter needed to make sure he was safe and healthy. He need to protect himself from potential life threatening diseases, and keep himself at least physically healthy.

 

The man standing next to him shifted his stance, letting the weight sink from his right foot into his left one. Tony’s voice is soft in volume when he speaks, but the inflection and tone of his voice is powerful and loud, “Brucie-Bear, Peter is feeling a little apprehensive about that part of the exam” His eyes darkened and he looked like he wanted to elaborate, but he instead continued speaking, “Maybe we can move on to the next part and come back to this later on if Peter feels comfortable?” 

 

Bruce nodded his head quickly, both understanding the sentiment and wanting to avoid confrontation. Mr. Starks statement had been phrased as a question, but it was clear there was no other option. “We can totally do that, no problem whatsoever Peter,” he awkwardly smoothed his hands over the rumpled purple fabric of his shirt. 

 

The short man moved to rustle through the white box sitting on the edge of the table. He pulled out several objects, laying them to rest next to the box. Among them were a sealed bag of long white swabs, a thick grey comb, several envelopes, a pack of clear plastic vials and a crinkly package labeled ‘gloves’.

 

Dr. Banner tore the package open first, swiftly pulling the gloves over his hands. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, using the inside of his wrist in order to not contaminate the gloves, and turned to face the boy. His hair was still as messy as before and his outfit was distinctively unkempt. In fact, it is quite weird to see the professional gloves against the casual, disheveled appearance of the man. He almost looked like a regular person who had accidentally stumbled into a doctors office. But the way his hands moved with precision and the way his dark eyes meet his own, told a different story. Bruce Banner was clearly a doctor, the eyes alone gave it away. The man looked at him with a sense of kindness and gentleness usually reserved for the sickest of patients or the victims of sexual assault or violent crime. 

 

When the man looked at him, his skin felt like it was on fire. He ducked his head staring down at his toes. He hated being seen as a victim. He was Spider-Man, not some dumb rape victim who received pitying glances and gentle words. Peter shook his head at that thought, because it wasn’t like he thought all rape victims were dumb, or any rape victims for that matter. It wasn’t about shaming victims or any of that crap, it was about that fact that he fucking hated himself. 

 

He was supposed to be invisible, but he didn't feel that way. He felt like he was a shattered glass window, a bicycle left abandoned on the side of the hill during a storm, or the rotten apple laying at the base of a tree during the fall. He felt disposable, like something you can use until it's broken and then throw away. 

 

Bruce’s voice was soft and caring as he twirled the little baggy of swabs between his gloved fingers, “The next part of the exam starts out pretty simple. I have a couple of swabs here,” he held the bag up to show the boy exactly what they looked like, “and with permission, I would like to swap the inside of your mouth.” Bruce waits for the information to settle in slightly, before asking “Does that sound ok.”

Peter softly agreed, while still staring down at his toes. He could hear the plastic bag tear loudly, causing his breathing to speed up the tiniest. Terrified of eventually becoming stuck in a whirlwind of panic, he sucked in deep soothing breathes. He reminded himself that this is only a swab in mouth. He could handle having something small in his mouth, it was like sucking on candy or chewing on the end of an eraser. This will be ok, he promised himself over and over and over again. 

 

The feeling of cotton was heavy on the boys tongue. The swab pushed and pulled over his tongue, up the sides of his mouth and over his sore gums. When it is pulled away, Peter could see a small amount of his own blood on the wet cotton. Other than the slight red twinge of the material, the completely normal looking swab was pushed into an envelope. Bruce placed a large, orange ‘evidence’ sticker on the flap and pushed the envelope of to the side. 

 

Behind him, he heard Mr. Stark sharply inhale when he saw the sticker. The hands by the man's side, jerked forward as if he wanted to grab the envelope from the table. However, his large hands hovered inches away from the  boy’s skin. He stared straight into Peter’s eyes, his eyes firey and out of control. “Can I touch you?” he asked, voice firm and strong.

 

When the boy quickly agreed to Mr. Stark’s touch, the man's hands closed the gap between them. Large fingers ran across the boy’s upper arm. Feeling the warm fingers danced across his flesh, made the boy sigh contently. It made him feel grounded and his hands radited courage like a pulse. 

 

Bruce stood in front of him once again, having placed the envelope in the correct spot. One gloved hand held a comb, while the other held another several swabs. “Before we get onto the harder part of the examination, may I have your consent to recover samples from your hair and under your fingernails?” 

 

With the proper given consent, the comb ran through his hair swiftly and the swabs quickly brushed under his nails. The entire time, Peter stared down at his toes and focused solely on the feeling of Mr. Starks warm hands on his upper arms. 

 

When the evidence was properly bagged and the orange stickers had been stuck to the envelopes, the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Dark shadows danced across the ceiling and Peter wanted nothing more for them to swallow him up whole. 

 

Bruce stood in front of the boy, trying to exude a confidence he did not possess. His gloved hands awkwardly held new swabs and a recently disinfected comb. When he spoke, his voice cracked like thunder in a dry storm. “So we’ve now reached the really super uncomfortable part of the exam...” his voice trailed off slightly, but he continued on soon after, “Before we start I want to set up a few guidelines. I want you to know that you are in one hundred percent control of what happens right now and what you say goes. I am going to make this go as quickly as possible, but I also have to be thorough in order for this to work best.” His eyes darted to Mr. Stark, but he continued speaking without losing a beat, “Because this next part of the exam is sensitive you can either have Mr. Stark leave the room or he can stay here to support you. I need your verbal consent to start this process, so please tell me what you’re feeling up to when you’re ready.”

 

When Peter heard those words, he automatically wanted to send Tony away from the room. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to see him in the state he was sure to be in during the next part of the examination. It was mortifying, and the boy’s face flushed bright red in embarrassment. The man probably hated him already for being a dirty faggot, he didn’t need to add to the list of reasons he was a disappointment. 

 

But on the other hand, Mr. Stark staying sounded so damn appealing. He was addicted to the feeling of his warm hands rubbing his upper arm and the sweet nothings the man whispered in his ear truly helped the boy feel more grounded. He wasn’t even sure he could make it through this next part if Mr. Stark didn’t stay . Without Tony, who would protect him? Who would save the day and make him feel better?

 

“I want him to stay...please..and I’m ready for the exam now, you just need to tell me exactly what’s happening before you touch me...” His voice was as quiet as the flap of a single butterflies wings. He was terrified of sharing his needs with the men, but if Dr. Banner touched him when he wasn’t looking or someplace scary, he feared he would have a complete and utter mental breakdown.

 

Tony’s hands started rubbing the boy’s arms faster after he spoke. Peter felt like he could feel the man’s entire body vibrating through his hands, like a cat purring in content. He leaned into the touch, just focusing on the feeling of fingertips trailing over his skin. He was going to be ok. He was going to be ok. He was going to be ok.

 

“Sounds like a plan” Bruce exclaimed, as he moved slightly closer to the examination table. “The first step is going to be easiest,” His eyes glance down at the marred flesh on Peter’s exposed thighs. “I’m going to swab over your thighs in order to catch any dried semen or blood samples. Do I have permission to collect these samples.”

 

Peter pushed outward, chasing the feeling of Mr. Stark’s hands on his arm. The man pushed down harder in response, kneading the skin and grounding Peter to this moment. “Alright..” Peter's voice was small, but Bruce clearly heard it. 

 

The man lifted a long, white swab from the examination table. He twirled it once between his fingers and then moved slightly forward to stand in front of the boy. “I’m going to touch you with only the swab Peter. It probably won’t hurt, but it may stick a little bit. I need to scrape it several times across your skin to collect the samples and then you’ll be all done.” His voice is gentle and kind, but it was also clinical and outlined the steps he was going to take in great detail. 

 

The swab was cold when it made contact with his skin. The cotton scraped and scratched at the substances that coated his thighs. It didn’t hurt, but every time the material came in contact with the bruises he would clench his fists together. He dug his nails into his palms, but Mr. Stark caught his small hands in his larger ones. Everytime the boy moved to injure himself, Tony would wedge his fingers between Peter’s nails and his palms. The silence in the room, only accompanied by the small scratching sound of the swab, was broken by Tony’s voice. “I don’t think so kid. Hurt me if you need to hurt someone, but your body does not get a mark from yourself while I’m around.”

 

Dr. Banner took in a sharp inhale when he heard the word, but he simply continued swabbing as if heard nothing. Little flecks of white and red flaked up, and Bruce quickly coated the swab in the scrapings. He then moved to place the tainted swab into another envelope, sealing it with an orange evidence sticker and sealing it quickly. His hands shook as he placed it with the previous envelope.

 

“Time for the next step,” his voice was artificially cheerful, “This step is probably going to be the hardest, but I promise we are going to be here the entire time and I will make it go as quickly as possible. If we go through with this step, I’m going to ask you to remove your shorts and underwear,” Peter’s fingers moved to dig into his palm, he needed to feel pain. But, Tony held onto his hands tightly and refused to move his fingers from in between the boy’s nails and palms. “ I am going to have you roll on your back and I am going to spend approximately 90 seconds swabbing in and around your anus for any DNA your attacker might’ve left.” Peter scowled at the word attacker, but his breathing was far too frantic already for him to truly care. The boy was truly in panic mode. He felt like he was about to walk off a cliff or like there was an imaginary hand around his neck, choking him.  

 

But, the boy swallowed hard, quelling his fear and forcing himself to calm down and put on a brave face. He harshly pulled a hand from his mentor’s grasp, running his fingers over the fabric of the black gym shorts he was wearing. 

 

A tear landed on the fabric with a soft thud. He ran his fingertips through the liquid, meshing it with the fabric. The rational side of his brain knew that he was safe. The feeling of Mr. Stark grasping his other hand helped him know this. But, he was still terrified. The prospect of being so vulnerable in the presence of two powerful men put him on edge. Not only was it mortifying, but what would happen if they took advantage of him? What would happen if they overpowered him and forced him to do unthinkable things. Neither of the men were as tall or large as Alex. Neither were as cruel as his boyfriend. But, they were both larger than him and he felt like they could easily overpower him if they wanted to. 

 

Peter took in a deep breath. He was ok, he trusted Mr. Stark with his life and the man would not hurt him. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe. 

 

The fabric of his shorts and underwear slipped over his bruised thighs. He pulled them down quickly, staring at his toes and focusing on the weight of Mr. Stark’s hand in his own. He  was safe here. No one was going to hurt him. He was safe here. 

 

The fabric landed in a pool on the floor, with a soft thud. The paper crinkled loudly as the boy maneuvered his body to be lying on his stomach. His nose pressed against the cool metal of the table and he focused on taking in several deep breaths. He was ok. He was ok. He was ok.

 

“Do I have permission to touch you Peter?” Bruce asked gently. The response was delayed by a few seconds before he received a soft ‘yes from the boy.

 

A gloved hand touched the back of his upper thigh, spreading his legs in the slightest bit. Peter jerked away from the touch, trying to get away. 

 

_ Alex’s large, warm hand was touching the skin of his lower thigh. He was laying on his back, head pressed into the soft fabric of a pillowcase. The scent of lemon burned his nose. But he forced himself to breath in the toxic scent, having gone dizzy only seconds earlier when he had tried to stop breathing.   _

 

_ The rough hand grabbed the fabric of the boy’s boxers. It twisted and pulled at the material, inching it lower and lower down his legs.  _

 

_ The boy begged his boyfriend not to undress him, to leave him be. But a heavy leg pressed into his back and the underwear was quickly yanked down the rest of the way.  _

 

_ “You're not in control of this Peter,” Alex’s voice spit, “Only I decided when and what I want to do with your body” _

 

“Please, please don’t,” He started to beg now. The hand pulled away from his skin, and Tony’s hands tightly gripped his own.

 

The man tipped his head down, catching eye contact with the terrified boy, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t feel comfortable sweetheart. Just say the word and I promise it will be over.” 

 

Peter stared straight into the man’s dark brown orbs. He was trying to plead with him through the eye contact. Beg the man to not let this happen. To save him from the horrors he has had to endure. 

 

But Tony’s eyes hold a look of confusion, small pools of tears threatening to spill at the corner. “Please talk to me kid, tell me what’s wrong and I promise to fix it,” His voice was soft and pleading. “I love you so much sweetheart and if this hurts you, we don’t have to do it.”

 

Peter felt like he had lost his voice. Like there was a dam blocking his vocal chords. No words were coming out and all he could do was shake his head over and over and over again. He couldn’t do this. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. 

 

“Please save me Mr. Stark...please don’t let him hurt me…please make him go away...make Alex leave...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this fic is slowly but surely being updated! I've lowkey been feeling pretty off recently and even tho I have it almost all written , I really need to be in a certain place mentally before I update this. I also think it's good to give a breather between the intenseness. Please take care of yourself and if you see yourself in Peter please please please talk to someone you trust or reach out for help and know that it really does get better and you are. 
> 
> Comments make my day, so please leave some !!


	6. Like a Scar on a Butterfly's Wing

Peter sat curled up like a cat under a mound of 3 brightly colored fuzzy blankets on the sleek black leather couch in Mr. Stark’s living room. His fingers were wrapped around a large black mug, a bright red Spider-Man logo proudly displayed on the front. His hot chocolate was steaming in little wisps hovering inches above the mug. Every time he tipped the drink back, gooey half melted marshmallow stuck to his chapped lips. 

 

The couch shifted as Mr. Stark's weight sunk into the pile of fuzzy blankets next to him. The man’s own mug was half full with burning hot coffee, but little marshmallows still floated in the black liquid. His goatee had a small amount of marshmallow fluff stuck in the dark hair. 

 

“I think we need to talk kid,” Tony’s voice was soft and careful. His head tipped back to take another sip of his coffee before he continued talking. “I’m really worried about you sweetheart, and all I want is to protect you from this big, bad, scary world. But I can’t protect you if you never tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Peter groaned at the man’s guilt trip. He stared down at the little swirls of melted marshmallow and hot cocoa in his mug. It looked like a galaxy of browns and whites, swirling together and tempting him with its otherworldly nature.  

 

“Please talk to me kid, I promise to listen to everything you say, but I can’t help if you don’t at least clue me in a little.”

 

Peter’s eyes shifted up from the chocolate galaxy and into the abyss of Tony’s dark orbs. He traced the movement of a tear dripping down his tan skin. The liquid caught in the corner of his mouth, and the man’s tongue darted out to catch it.

 

“I’m not trying to threaten you sweetheart, so please don’t misinterpret this, but if you don’t talk to me I don’t have a ton of options. I haven’t even reached out to May yet kid…” his voice trailed off. “And don’t get me wrong, you’re welcome to stay here anytime you want, hell you could even move in permanently if you wanted to, but we have to talk before we can make any decisions. Once we talk we can make a game plan and then one or both of us can call your Aunt.”

 

Peter started back down at the chocolate and marshmallow swirls of his drink. His fingers wrapped tighter around the warm mug and he sighed. The boy had completely forgotten about his aunt. She was probably worried out of her mind about him and he hadn’t even think about her for a second. He was a horrible nephew, self centered and dirty and fucking broken. He didn’t deserve to have an Aunt like May. He was too disgusting, too much of a freak for someone as  perfect as May to love.

 

“Hey, hey, hey kiddo” Tony soothed the boy. His warm hand gripped Peter’s chin softly and the boy lifted his gaze to stare into the man’s eyes. “We don’t have to worry about that quite yet Peter, but I still want you to talk to me, kid. We’re going to figure it out together, but I need you to trust me. Please trust me kiddo”

 

Peter’s stomach churned violently. He knew the man was speaking the truth, but it still hurt him to hear. He hated the notion that he didn’t trust Mr. Stark. The man truly was one of the biggest supports in his entire life; a person who was there for Peter through thick and thin. But this felt too horrifying to talk about. He didn’t want to lose the man’s respect over some stupid relationship problems he could probably handle himself. 

  
“...please,” Mr. Stark begged, the tears still dripped down his face heavily. “Just talk to me kid.”

 

Minutes ticked by as Peter started down at his mug. This was the moment of truth. The moment when he could make it alright again. He held the power right now and maybe he could use it. 

 

“We met at a party last year,” Peter’s soft voice made Tony’s head snap up. The boy shrunk back because his mentor was now staring straight at him, but he forced himself to continue. “I was having a complete freak out because there were too many people and everything was too loud and I was such a hot mess. I was hiding in the bathroom, where I thought I had locked the stupid door, when this guy came rushing into the room. At first I was mortified, this random ass guy had caught me hysterically crying in the bathroom at a party and I hated that he saw me looking like such a freak.” Tony shifted when he heard that word, but Peter continued before he could comment. “Anyways, instead of making fun of me or leaving or anything normal like that, he sat down on the floor. He sat down right next to me and talked for literally hours. We talked about everything and anything and at the end he kissed me a single time before disappearing back into the party.”

 

Peter almost stopped at the next part. He was unsure of how much he should share with the man. He didn't want Mr. Stark to hate him, but he wasn’t sure he could keep anything a secret anymore. “At that time, I had already been questioning my sexuality for years.” He stared over at the man, content when his expression did not change in the slightest. No disgust was present on the man’s face and he instead seemed to simply be listening.“That was my first kiss with a guy though, I guess it was actually my first kiss altogether, but girls never appealed to me anyways. And I guess it was the moment I finally came to terms with being gay. It wasn’t even that good of a kiss, all wet and unsure, but kissing a boy at all just felt so right.”

 

Tony’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “The way you talk about him would be seriously adorable if he wasn’t an abusive jerk.”

 

Peter’s face contorted into a painful grimace. “He really wasn’t always bad. He used to buy my favorite chocolate milkshakes for me when I was sad. We would watch sci-fi movies curled up together and go on long walks together. We were the perfect couple, he was strong and handsome and I was the little, pathetic dork he took pity on and dated.”

 

“Hey, hey, don’t say that about yourself, Peter,” Tony’s voice chastised him softly, wringing his hands in anxiety. 

 

“It’s true though…” Peter’s voice spit out like venom, “I am pathetic and we all know it.. you don’t need to humor me because you feel bad.” 

 

Tony’s hands ran through the boy’s hair. His fingertips rubbing and scratching behind his ears. It made his breathing even out and he leaned in to fingers like a touch starved baby animal. 

 

“You know I love you, right?” Tony continued rubbing his fingers through the boy’s hair. His voice was soft and unsure, the question full of apprehensive insecurity. 

 

Peter started down at his lap. He knew Tony had told him multiple times that he loved the boy. But, he wasn’t sure he necessarily believed him. Loving Peter wasn’t an easy task. He was needy, traumatized and self destructive. He made caring about him miserable for others. They often would stay for a little while, thinking they could fix him and then leaving when they realized he was too broken to fix.

 

 Peter started speaking softly, not sure of what to say. “I guess I know you, uh, you know...love me and all...but sometimes I just forget. And like, I think you won’t love me anymore if you find out what a freak I am.” His voice awkwardly resonates, getting louder at the next phrase. “No one loves broken people Mr. Stark and I’m fucking broken!”

 

Tony’s hand pulled from his hair and settled on Peter’s upper arm. “You're not a freak Peter, and you’re certainly not broken. You’re amazing and strong and badass and the sweetest kid I have ever met in my entire life.” 

 

Peter scowled up at the man, “How can you even say that though? Don’t you get it I am a freak! A fucking horrible, piece of shit faggot who deserves to die. Even my fucking boyfriend believes that, so why shouldn't I? People like me aren’t meant to be happy. We have to be punished for being so repulsive. PLEASE, let me punish myself. Please.”

 

While he was yelling, Peter started hitting his hand on his thigh. It started slow, getting faster and faster until Tony grabbed his wrist. “Stop hurting yourself Peter, please stop hurting yourself kid,” The man begged the boy. 

 

“I can’t!” Peter screamed, “I can never fucking stop hurting myself because I deserve it and it feels so good.” Peter’s voice lowered and he stared straight into Tony’s eyes “I think I might be addicted to it. Sometimes I even push at the bruises just to feel the pain and I feel sick when I remember that I did not give them to myself. He gave them to me and I can’t help but loving them...loving him..lovin-”

 

“Can I show you something?” Mr. Stark interrupted, twitching his free hand in anxiety. The man looked nervous, but determined. 

 

When Peter nodded his head in confusion, the man stood up from the couch. He stood parallel to the boy, staring down at him with an intense gaze. He rolled the top of his bright green, hulk themed sweatpants down to his knees. A new pair of clean, plaid boxers were revealed under the fabric.

 

 His hands darted down to the edge of his boxers, and he ran the fabric between two fingers pinched together. Lifting the edge of the boxers, the skin of his thigh was revealed. The tarnished flesh was in stark contrast to the creamy texture of the rest of his skin. His thighs were a canvas of a million tiny white scars, crisscrossing in every which way. Some scars were larger and deeper than others, some more shallow (appearing more like tiny cat scratches on his thighs). They were old, the white scars faded with decades of healing. A few were newer, but none could’ve been from the last several years. Peter knew the scars would never fade from his thighs. They would live on forever, displayed on Tony’s skin. A canvas of faded pain and a reminder of every battle he had had with himself. It was clear the man had lost many, but ultimately he had won. His presence in this room, in Peter’s life, was a testament to the fact that Tony had made it. He had defeated his demons and survived. Mr. Stark was one of the strongest people he had ever met and knowing this information made the boy respect him even more. Mr. Stark was his role model and knowing he struggled with self harm as well, made him feel safer and more welcome than ever. 

 

Tony’s voice sounded on the edge of tears as he started talking, “When I was 16, I was a fucking mess kiddo. Just like you,” He gestured vaguely to his thighs and then towards Peter’s hands, “I was addicted to hurting myself, an alcoholic at an age I couldn’t even legally drink at, and abused by someone who was supposed to love me.”

 

“I’m not abused Tony…he loves me. I swear he lo-”

 

Tony plopped back down on the pile of fuzzy blankets, not bothering to pull his pants back up. “Calm down and let me finish kid. I know you think he loves you but Alex,” Peter flinched violently at the name, “that’s the scumbags name right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, already knowing he was correct. “He doesn’t love. Just like my dad didn’t love me, he doesn’t love you. And what sucks, is that we’re the ones who wind up with an addiction to our own pain, while they get to go on living their life as normal. We wind up fucked up and hating ourselves. We wind up feeling broken beyond repair. And I hate to break it to you kid, but we are NOT broken and I fucking refuse to let you turn into me. You’re too bright to turn into a cranky old man who never healed from his childhood trauma. You have a future in front of you that I refuse to let it contain addictions you will spend forever fighting. You will not be another Tony fucking Stark. Another little boy who never faced their abuser. Peter I need you to hear me when I say that I never faced my abuser because he died before he could take accountability. My father fucking died before I could heal and I will not let you live with that burden. You are going to have the opportunity to heal if it’s the last thing I ever do. I promise that you will be able to heal kiddo.”

 

Tears ran down Peter’s face. They landed in little droplets in the boy’s mug of cold hot chocolate. The drink diluted the slightest, tears swirling in the little galaxies of brown and white liquid. 

 

“Does he really not love me? Like not at all?” Peter’s tone was pleading, begging the man to say the words he would never hear; promise love that never existed in the first place. 

 

“No Peter,” Tony’s head shook harshly. “He really doesn't love you sweetheart.” 

 

Peter felt like his heart stopped. His breathing was erratic and he tried to beg with the man.“But...but... I love him so much Mr. Stark. I really truly love him, he can’t not love me. It isn’t fair, he has to love me.”

 

Tony sighed loudly, reaching out to card his hand through Peter’s curls. “He doesn’t love you Peter. I promise he doesn’t love you. I know this doesn’t make sense to you right now kiddo, but I swear he doesn’t love you. Love doesn't hurt sweetheart. Love is beautiful and magical and amazing, but love doesn't hurt. If the person that claims to love you hurts you, it’s not true love. It’s fake and dangerous and scary and you don’t deserve that Peter. You deserve magical kisses in the rain, soft hugs and dancing in the moonlight. You don’t deserves bruises or cuts or douchebags forcing you to have sex with them. You’re too perfect for the pain he causes you- too fucking perfect kid. ” 

 

The boy curled further into the fuzzy blankets on the couch. He wanted to bury himself in the weight of the world. He wanted to hide or run away from the entire human race or to stand on a rooftop screaming into the air. “I’m scared of him not loving me. I’m scared that no one else will love me again now that I’m broken. I’m scared to go to school. I’m scared to be in crowds. I’m scared of people touching me. I’m scared of people leaving me. I’m scared Mr. Stark. I am so fucking scared.” 

 

He felt like his face was the rocks under a waterfall. He was drowning in his own tears, they were coming so fast.  “I just want to make you proud…”

 

“And you are, making me proud that is. By talking to me, you are proving how strong you are. You are letting yourself heal one tiny piece at a time, piece by piece you are putting yourself back together. That is more than I could ever ask for, Peter. You are stronger than you think you are.” The pads of Tony’s fingers caught tears from his eyes like catching fireflies on a warm spring night. He rubbed soothing circles into his pale wet skin. Regardless of the cool tears, he felt warm and safe at the man’s touch. “We’re going to make it through this together Peter, I promise.” 

 

The boy nodded his head, for the first time in a long time truly believing it. “I’m sorry I freaked out during the rape kit… I didn’t want to offend Dr. Banner or anything, I just couldn't deal with it. I felt like a was suffocating when I couldn’t see him touching me. It made my skin crawl.”  

 

Tony’s laugh broke the tense air, “Oh sweetheart, Dr. Banner wasn’t offended at all and I’m sure he would love to talk to you sometime about science. You can even be science bro junior if you want… Oh my god you can be our science son!” Peter’s ears turned bright red and Tony’s tone turned more serious. “But I do owe you an apology, kiddo. I was so blindsided by your pain, I couldn't see straight. I never should have forced you to get an exam you didn’t want and weren’t feeling up to, that was seriously not cool of me. You are in control of your own life sweetheart and not even I get to control what you do. The kit is still downstairs in the medical bay and if you want we can destroy it- have a ‘fuck the system’ bonfire and burn it. But, if you don’t want to destroy it, I will be there every step of the way. I promise you however, that whatever you choose I will not leave you to struggle alone.”

 

Their hearts were beating louder than a thunderstorm. His short legs were tucked under his skinny frame and his arms curled around his midsection. He knew he was safe, but taking up the least amount of space was ingrained in his entire being.

 

He wanted to thank the man for his kindness, hug him and cry his eyes out. But, his body wouldn’t move. Guilt was present in every inch of his body. It was in the curved tears running down his face and bruises on his thighs and the little piece of hair sticking up near his ear.

 

He snuggled deeper into the blankets, drinking the final dredges of his cold hot chocolate and tapping on his leg repeatedly.  His eyes were cast down in guilt as he spoke. “You don’t have to apologize Mr. Stark, you did the right thing.” 

 

He swallowed the rest of the melted marshmallows, savoring the sweet taste. “I think...I think I was r-r-raped Mr. Stark. At first I thought it was consensual, because we’re in a relationship… but I didn’t even want sex in the first place.”  His eyes are smushed tightly shut, “We’ve been having sex for months, months Mr. Stark, and..and..and I don’t think I ever ever ever EVER agreed to it. But I convinced myself that it was ok because we were in a relationship and that compromise in a relationship is important.” 

 

Tony inhaled sharply. “... just because you’re in a relationship doesn’t mean you consent. Consent is an ongoing thing, just because you said yes once doesn’t mean you permanently agreed. He doesn’t get to take whatever he wants from you; that is not healthy or consensual.”  His eyes drift down to Peter’s legs, staring as if he can see through the layers of three fuzzy blankets and sweatpants. “He also doesn’t get to do that to you.” His hand gestured towards the boy’s legs. “Bruises like that are dangerous Peter. It doesn’t make you any more strong to let your boyfriend hurt you. It doesn’t prove anything about you, it just shows how shitty he is as a person.”

 

“But...but... I really think he loves me deep down. He probably started doing this because of something I did. Maybe it really is my fault, maybe I just have to do better.” Peter was sure this was his fault. After all, Alex used to be sweet with him. But then it all changed, like a light flip was switched, and now Alex hated him. There had to be a reason why this happened. Peter had to have done something, anything wrong. 

 

As if reading his thoughts, Tony butted in. “No, this is absolutely not on you Peter. You did nothing wrong and nothing you do will change him. You have to get out of there before it gets worse though. I can’t lose you because you were too noble to get your ass out of a bad situation. I refuse to lose you to your own thick head, kid.” 

 

Peter shrunk in on himself. He hated the hearing Mr. Stark being angry. It terrified him to hear the man’s harsh tone and the way his arm kept on shooting out like he was about to blast someone with his repulsers.

 

Following Peter’s gaze, the man quickly dropped his arm. “I feel like I want to kill him.” He whispered, “As soon as you uttered his name, all I could imagine was his body falling to the ground lifeless.” He stared down at his legs, “I am ashamed to admit that I would do it. I would kill that son of a bitch if it meant I could protect you. I would do anything for you Peter, anything.”

 

“Please don’t talk about Alex like that..please Mr. Stark, I love him too much.”

 

Tony scoffed, but his face softened when he saw Peter’s expression. “I know you don’t want to hear this Peter, but you need to understand how repulsive Alex is. People who hurt the ones they claim to love, are scumbags. They are truly, truly horrible people. I hate him for doing this to you and I hate him even more for still possessing your love.”

 

“I guess I'm scared of not loving him,” His voice came out almost like a whisper, “If I admit that I don’t love him, if I finally come to terms with calling what he did rape or abuse, I might just fall apart. I don’t know anything but the pain, so how could I manage to live without it?”

 

Tony spoke with confidence now, “We’re going to make it work. Me, your Aunt, Ned, all of the people who love you- we’re going to help you feel alright again. It’s not going to take a day, but I promise you will eventually feel ok again”

 

Peter stared up at him, holding his hand out expectantly in front of his face. “Pinky promise?”

 

Tony chuckled but nonetheless linked his pinky with the boy’s, “I promise kiddo. And not just any promise, I pinky promise.”

 

Still linked to Mr. Stark’s pinky, Peter shifted on his side. He curled himself into the corner of the couch, laying his head down on the fuzzy pillow. A loud yawn left his mouth and he pulled the hand connected to Tony’s up to rub at his eyes. “I’m really tired dad,” Tony’s smiled largely at the name, “and I think I’m ready to just watch a movie or something now. I’m feeling really overwhelmed and I want to stop talking if it’s ok.” 

 

Tony’s dark eyes gazed at the boy and he squeezed the boy’s pinky with his own.“Alright kiddo, I’ve got a Lego Batman Movie with your name on it.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes at the juvenile choice, but internally cheered. Lego Batman was his shit. The boy often wondered if Tony secretly thought he was a toddler. Pink Hello Kitty pajama Pants, animated movies, superhero bandaids and juice boxes were a staple in their relationship. He often wondered if Tony was trying to make up for the years of his life the man had missed. All the fourth grade science exhibits he never went to and the ‘boo boos’ he never got to kiss. Peter’s entire existence seemed like a giant ‘boo boo’ at this point. 

 

Or perhaps the man was simply just being an overprotective dad. The ‘baby monitor’ protocol was only half ironically named and Tony often spent hours combing over the footage weekly to make sure the boy was ok. The man always treated the boy like he was wrapped in bubble wrap; coddling him and making sure the boy was alright.

 

“You know I’m not actually four, right?” He giggled while asking the man.

 

Tony ruffled his hair fondly, “Keep on telling yourself that kiddo, keep on telling yourself that.” Peter stuck his tongue out at the man. “That’s not exactly helping your case.” Tony teased, while queuing up the movie to play.

 

“You know you love me, though.” Peter quipped back, wiggling his tongue back and forth.

 

“Sure do.” Tony said, leaning forward to boop the boy’s nose. “I love you just like you were my own ridiculous, goofball of a four year old son.”

 

Peter laughed, trying to act cool. But his insides felt like they were melting. Tony called him his son, a four year old, but a son nonetheless. Trying to be nonchalant, Peter replied with a joking, “I love you too dad.” But the phrase felt more like reality than a joke. The world ‘dad’ had felt foreign, yet familiar on his tongue. He liked the way it felt though and he wanted to say it again. 

 

Tony’s face broke into a lopsided grin. The tan skin around his goatee crinkling in smile lines and dimples. “You know kiddo,” His voice was unsure as he started to speak, “I don’t mind you calling me that.” Peter looked up at him confused. “Dad… I mean. You can call me Dad if you want, Peter.”  

 

Peter’s heart caught in his throat. He had never really had a dad before. His own father had passed away when he was younger. He only had faint memories of the man, the sound of a laugh tinkling like sea glass or a smile catching the light. Uncle Ben had quickly filled the role, acting as the father figure that had guided him through his childhood years into the complex years of being a teenager.  

 

The past few years had been complicated for the boy to navigate. He loved his Aunt more than words could ever describe, but something always felt missing. He had hated himself for wanting more for the longest time. It felt like he was betraying her trust, or somehow saying that she had been a bad parent. But, he genuinely didn’t feel that way. He simply craved having more love than a single person could provide and perhaps he also craved having father figure. As a gay guy and the child of a single parent, Peter understood that you didn’t always need traditional parents to be happy. Lots of queer people provided love to their children and single parents were some of the most badass people in the world. But, something about Peter’s psyche made him crave having a father in his life. 

 

Overtime, Peter found Tony filling that role in his life more and more. From pep talks to the best hugs in the entire world, Mr. Stark had always been there for him. The man had never left when Peter had ugly cried all over his expensive shirts, or fucked up and endangered hundreds of people on the Staten Island Ferry. He helped often with homework and he always bought Peter double chocolate chunk ice cream when he got an A. But most importantly, he loved the boy.

 

Like a father, Tony promised never to leave Peter and to protect him at all costs. He stuck his neck out for the boy, held him close when he cried and put on his favorite shitty movies when he was sad.

 

Peter nestled his face against the fuzzy blanket. His lips were pulled up in a smile, a giggle bubbling up to the surface, “Alright dad,” his voice sounded like wind chimes, “can I ask a question though?” Apprehension was clear in his voice and the way he held his body. “If I talk to May about it, can I stay here for a couple of weeks or maybe a month...or something?” As soon as the question was asked, he stumbled to add, “If it’s not too much to ask, of course, I would never want to burden you or anything.” 

 

The smile on Tony’s face was as bright as a thousand suns. “Of course you can sweetheart, you are always welcome here kid.” The man moved to stand up, finally pulling his bright green, Hulk sweatpants back up. He grabbed his phone from the couch, “I’m going to call May now and explain what’s going on.” 

 

Peter felt apprehension at that comment. He knew May had to be filled in on the situation and he loved his Aunt more than words could explain, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to know about everything that had been happening in his life. He didn’t want to hurt the women. She took everything so personally and would no doubt blame herself for what had happened.

 

 He also wasn’t ready to be out to her. Regardless of how well it had gone with Tony, he was not ready for his Aunt to know his sexuality. He didn’t expect her to be a bigot or anything, but every time he came out it felt like there was a weight crushing him. He was never sure of how people would react. Sometimes even the most accepting, sweetest people could turn out to be a homophobic asshole. You never knew what private opinions someone held until the situation rose. It was even sadder to consider that some parents who seemed completely accepting of other LGBT people, turned their back on their own queer children. It’s one thing to accept the existence of queer people and an entire other thing to accept and love your own child. When it’s other people, it’s easy to ignore what you don’t approve of or push it to the side.  But when it's your own child and the exact thing you find uncomfortable is right in your face, it becomes harder to ignore bias. Even the sweetest parents have been known to turn on their own children when they come out and Peter simply wasn’t risking it. 

 

On top of everything, the boy wasn’t feeling ready to go back to his little cozy apartment in Queens. Everything there felt tainted. The sheets were stained with his own blood, ruined clothing was strewn across the room and demons hid in the darkness under his bed. His bedroom at the tower felt safer than any other place in the entire world. His posters, his soft blue and black sheets, the Legos adorning his room- they all held an air of safety and familiarity. Not to mention his mentor’s room being only inches away. One loud scream for help and Mr. Stark, his dad, would come running to save him. 

 

Tony tapped on his phone and moved to leave the room. In fear of what Tony would say to the women, Peter moved to stand up as well. He was going to follow the man and make sure he said the right things to May, or maybe beg him not to call at all. 

 

But the man pushed him back into the fuzzy mound of blankets. “Don’t worry kid, I’m just going to tell her you’re here and safe.” Peter scowled at the man, moving to get up again, But Tony pushed him back down, running his hand through the boy’s hair. “Don’t give me that look you goofball.”

 

Tony stuck his tongue out at the boy. Peter scowled at the man again. However when Tony tried to leave again, his small hand shoot up to grab his wrist.“Can you just... like… you know... leave out the gory details? I want to uhhh… I want her to hear it from me” The boy hastily tried to form a coherent sentence. 

Tony smiled down at the boy. Pulling his wrist from Peter’s hand, he ruffled his hair affectionately. “I promise to only tell her you’re safe and ask if you can stay for a little while longer. I know you’re scared Peter, but she is your guardian and she loves you more than anyone else in the world.” 

 

Peter stared down at his lap, feeling guilty once again. May truly loved him and she did have a right to know what was happening as the women who had raised him. But right now he needed to be with Tony, he needed to be with his dad.

 

He dropped his hands back into his lap, running the pads of his fingers over the soft fabric. “Alright Tony, just come back soon please.”

 

Tony nodded his head quickly and the man hastily left the room, already pressing the phone to his ear. He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving the boy to sulk on the couch. 

 

When Mr. Stark was gone, Peter turned his head to face the TV once again. His head lay heavily on the side of the couch and his ears tuned into the animated movie on the screen. As he continued watching, the colors on the screen blurred into brightly colored blobs. His eyes drifted shut over and over and over again, staying closed for longer periods of time as time ticked by, until he finally drifted into a peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH I'm sorry that this takes literally like a month to update, it's just an intense story tbh. But now that it's summer, would y'all prefer if I updated more often? Anyways, free hot chocolate and hugs for everyone that made it to this small reprieve of comfort... also hot chocolate and hugs for Tony because he deserves it and I just love that man so much and he deserves love!!
> 
> Leave a comment if you so please !! They make me happy :D


	7. If you get lost, you can always be found

When Peter’s eyes blearily blinked open, he was met with a sideways view of the sleek living room. The floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room, exposed horizontal fragments and pieces of the skyscrapers surrounding the tower. The various buildings fit together like puzzle pieces, the light in their windows looked like tiny pinpricks in the late evening sky. New York city often lacked stars, but they made up for it with their lights. The city that never slept always had lights on, twinkling and dazzling and blinding it’s residents with an eternal glow.

 

In a strange way it was comforting. In looking out at the lights, Peter could remind himself that he was not alone. There were a million other lights out there, a million people experiencing their own emotions and living their own authentic lives. Some lives were better than his, and some were far worse.

 

It was the same reason Peter loved public transit. The anonymity was like an all consuming drug. Being unknown made him feel like he was flying. When no one knew who he was, he could be whoever he wanted to be. He could be confident in himself, in his sexuality, his aspergers, his quirkiness. Heck, in a strange way he could be confident in his superpowers.

 

To him, being Spider-Man was the ultimate feeling of being anonymous. Running around the city masked and unrecognizable made Peter feel in control of everything. It made him feel powerful to be unidentifiable by any factors other than the way his body flew through the air, the humor of his witty sarcasm, and his brightly colored suit. 

 

Ironically, being a highly recognizable superhero had helped Peter blend into the background of his normal life.  Learning how to create and perfect Spider-Man’s personality helped him learn more about himself. It helped make Peter Parker the perfect invisible kid. It helped him blend in and, until Alex, it helped him go completely unnoticed. 

 

Peter’s entire body shifted slightly. Pulling his face away from the cool leather off the couch, the boy attempted to dig his face into the rather large mound of fuzzy blankets on the couch, but when he saw the sight in front of him, he automatically stopped and stared with his mouth gaping open.

 

Mr. Stark stood in front of him wearing a crisp white button down that looked like it cost more than Peter’s entire existence. His dark hair was freshly washed and all evidence of the trails of tears that fell down his face earlier must’ve been washed down the drain with the last dredges of body wash and peppermint scented shampoo. The bottom half of the man’s body was hilarious in comparison. His crisp white button down was carefully tucked into his bright green sweatpants, adorned with little fists and the word ‘SMASH’ written in purple. His feet were barefoot and his toes sunk into the warm fabric of the fuzzy rug. 

 

Next to him, May stood looking like a model. Her long, reddish brown hair was tucked behind the woman’s ears. It cascaded down her back in soft waves, and moved every time she took in a breath. She was wearing a light pink shirt, that hugged her skin, and high waisted light wash denim jeans. Her feet were adorned in small, pink ballet flats with little golden sequins that matched her round glasses frame. 

 

Peter sat up quickly, closing his gaping mouth with a snap. The expression painted across May’s face scared him. It was the perfect combination of anger and caring. It looked like she was flickering between the two emotions like strobe lights. One second her lips would straighten into a flat, angry line and the next it would be a tentative, warm smile. Her eyes’ were the worst though. They would flash between furious and loving in a moments notice, causing the boy to fear her reaction. 

 

Tony shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, looking obviously uncomfortable. However he decided to speak first, breaking the tense silence.“As much as I love a great family reunion, I think we should skip the angry looks and get straight to the hugging.”

 

Aunt May visible swallowed, the skin of her neck shifting. The skin around her eyes crinkling when she gave a small, forced smile like the folded fabric of drips of ice cream. She swayed forward onto her toes, apprehensive and wanting to move her body in even the slightest way. 

Peter ran his hands over the fuzzy material of the blanket. He wanted to be relieved from this awkward moment. He loved his aunt, but he didn’t have anything to say to her right now. In fact he is terrified that if he started to speak, everything would come spilling out like a crumbling wall finally being knocked down. 

  
When he glanced up, he refused to make eye contact with May. He was terrified one look would expose all of his feelings and he refused to risk it. However, when he instead made eye contact with Tony he knew something had to be said. Tony’s dark brown eyes were  begging him to talk to May and try to make things better.

 

The boy awkwardly peeled himself off of the couch. He took a few steps forward, standing slightly closer to Tony, but still in between the two parental figures in his life. It felt weird to be standing in the middle, but at the same time it was oddly fitting. In the past few years he had spent countless amount of time bouncing between these two people. Both physically and emotionally, the boy has been stuck in an awkward parental limbo between Tony and May. Both adults gave their all to the boy standing in front of them. Neither of them were Peter’s biological parent, but both of them acted as if they were. For all intents and purposes May was his mom, no questioning it. And recently Tony had been more and more of a father figure for Peter. Inviting the boy to call him Dad had done nothing but strengthen the paternal bond Peter had with the man. 

 

 It was comforting to have that much love in his life, but it also made made his insides squirm. He didn’t want to choose between the two of them. But even now, as he stood closer to Tony than May, it felt like he was picking sides. It felt like he was choosing Tony over the woman who raised him, even though he simply needed the support only Mr. Stark could offer him in the moment. He needed someone who had been through a similar situation. Someone whose skin was as scared as his own was. Someone who had survived and was now living a happy, successful life regardless of his trauma. He needed support from another abuse survivor, another self harmer. Someone who would let him cry for hours upon hours and understand why he needed to. 

 

Peter took a step closer to May. He peered into her large brown eyes, trying to read her emotions through them.“Hey…” His post nap voice was low and foggy, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m so sorry that I didn’t call you when I first needed help, but I am so glad you’re here right now… I need you here, May.”

 

The truth was that he truly was glad his aunt had come. He loved the women to Mars and back and she always knew how to make a bad situation better. However, Peter wasn't sure she could make this particular bad situation better. In fact, he was terrified of the woman making it worse. Her love for the boy was powerful, but he was terrified it would backfire on him. He was scared of her judging him or perhaps blaming him for getting into the situation in the first place. He knew everything she said was well intentioned, but sometimes Aunt May had a tendency to blame the boy for things that were truly out of his control. 

 

After Aunt May had first discovered Peter’s powers, the two had been distant for weeks afterwards. The weeks quickly turned into months, and their relationship had never felt the same afterwards. At times he felt May’s dark eyes following him in slight fear as he bustled about the apartment. Other times, he could feel her warm touch growing cooler. Her laughs were clipped and her hugs shorter. 

 

She never outright said it, but Peter knew she partially blamed him for Ben’s death. It wasn’t like she was mean or anything, but the comments she made aired on the side of passive aggressive. She would often make little comments about his powers that made the boy uncomfortable, but Peter always wound up ignoring it and holding his head high. Snarky comments or not, she was family. The boy excused a lot from her on the basis of the familial love they had for each other. She was stronger than so many people he knew, losing her husband and struggling as a poor single parent sounded like hell. So, Peter usually put their small differences aside and treated his Aunt with the love and respect she deserved. 

 

May reached forward to wrap the boy into a tight hug. She smelled like cherry wood and green tea. The scents combined with the scents of motor oil and expensive cologne drifting from the man next to them, and every smell coming together made him feel safe. He was surrounded by people who loved and truly cared about him.

 

Tony tentatively stepped forward, clearly afraid of ruining the moment. But courageously, he moved to wrap his arms around the two Parkers embracing. At first it is a ghost of touch but when Peter lets out a hum of approval and May sighs contently, Tony tightened his grip. The man laid his head on top of Peter’s, resting his forehead against May’s on the other side. 

 

“Hey you guys,” Peter’s voice was soft enough that it could not leave the little tangle of people hugging, “I never really knew my parents...but sometimes I like to think they would be something like the two of you. And even if they were nothing like the two of you, it wouldn’t matter because you are my parents...you guys and Ben.” He felt May shift sadly and a tear plopped onto his shirt. “You guys are my real parents, no matter what biology says about it.” 

 

Tony was the first to pull away from the hug, the weight of his body shifting away and returning to his normal stance. However, a large warm hand ruffled Peter’s hair and the man leaned down to whisper in his ear. “ I love you so much and you better never forget it, kid.”

 

May then pulled away from the boy. But her warm, nimble fingers quickly caught his chin before she fully backed away. The pads of her fingers caressed the skin of his chin and around his chapped lips. She traced warm patterns into his flesh, like a paintbrush running across the surface of a canvas. 

 

A single finger slid across the partially split lip, poking slightly at the dried blood coating the skin. Peter flinched back slightly at the pain. It wasn’t terribly bad, in fact it was nothing compared to the physical torment the boy regularly experienced, but it still hurt. The chapped, cracks of his lip were raw, yet thin layers of skin wove together in attempts to heal it. However, every few hours when he tore it back open with his own teeth, the skin would tear and blood would pool at the surface. 

 

Regardless if it was only just a dull amount of pain, he still didn’t want Aunt May touching it. Her prodding finger hurt him and the boy never wanted to associate any sort of physical pain with the woman. His aunt was supposed to protect him and letting her hurt him in even the smallest, most unintentional way was a bad idea. He didn’t want the images of joy and love that existed in his mind to mix with ones of pain. He didn’t want them to swirl together in his memories, like coffee and rancid milk mixing and swirling together. 

 

He also refused to let himself take pleasure in the pain of his lip. In any other circumstance, the boy consumed pain like a drug. He searched out the feeling of bloody nail marks and blood pouring from broken lips. But, he would not find joy in the pain caused from his Aunt’s concern. It was a twisted prospect and he wouldn’t betray either of them in that way.

 

May’s hand quickly dropped from his face when she saw the pain it was causing the boy. She spun her finger around her tarnished, silver wedding ring. The women had never taken it off after Ben had passed away, rather keeping it as a reminder of their love. When ever she was concerned or stressed, the women would twist the worn metal, hoping for Ben’s spirit to help her guide the situation.

 

Her dark eyes met Peter’s and she gave him a small smile. “I talked to Tony about you wanting to stay here for a little bit,” Her sweet voice sounded as if she was about to cry, “And I want you to know that I will miss you dearly sweetie and I can’t pretend that I honestly don’t want you to leave me. The sound of an empty house is terrifying and I love you to the moon and back.” Peter’s heart clenched, he knew May wouldn’t let him stay here and it was a long shot in the first place.

 

“But,” Peter’s heart skipped a beat when she continued talking. “I would never ever ever stop you from doing what you want.” She reached her hands out again and her fingers rubbed soothingly into Peter’s skin (avoiding his lip). “If this is what you want, what will truly make you the safest and happiest, I will gladly let you stay here for as long as you need. If this is the home you need right now, than so be it. I will not be the one taking your happiness away.”

 

Tears rolled down her skin, but she ignored them and continued talking. “In fact, Tony and I thought we could all take a trip to Queens to get any stuff you need from your room there. You can also give the neighborhood a little send off. This is definitely not for forever, but you still might like to say a little goodbye. Maybe get sandwiches and chocolate shakes from your favorite deli?”

 

Peter’s lips quirked up at that suggestion. His Aunt certainly knew how to bribe him and he would never turn up sandwiches with extra pickles, paired with the perfect chocolate shake. He was a New Yorker after all, it would be like saying no to a good slice of one dollar pizza. 

 

“That sounds perfect,” Peter agreed. His eyes then look down and over to Tony. “But maybe Mr. Stark and I should change before we go. While pajamas are a great look maybe they’re not the best outfit choice for the occasion.”

 

May looked at him with an understanding, exasperated expression. It confused the boy to see, but she shushed him quickly. “You know I don’t care if you call him that...” Peter’s ears turned bright red and he stared down at his feet in embarrassment, “I know that you’ve had a lot of different father figures in your life and that none of them have ever felt permanent. But, I don’t think you're replacing your birth father or your uncle by doing it Peter.” Her voice held the quality only parents seem to possess, chastising but sweet at the same time. Like honey dripping into warm tea or fresh flowers growing at the beginning of spring. “You’re allowed to make yourself happy, Peter. And you’re not betraying me, or anyone else for that matter, by simply making yourself happy. If calling Tony dad makes you happy, then go for it. You’re allowed to be happy, and it’s adorable anyways. You kind of sound like a toddler who thinks the word dad is the best word in the entire world.” 

 

Peters ears turned an even brighter shade of red. They were back on the little kid thing again and it mortified the boy. He hated being treated like or compared to someone far younger than him. However, a small part of him preened at the attention. He loved being treated as fragile or in need of protection. It made his heart soar to know that someone truly cared about him enough to call him their son. The teasing was a way they showed him their love, and he truly cherished every silly comment and tongue stuck out in his direction. 

 

Trying to continue the charade of embarrassment, the boy stared down at his feet with a burning face and ears. He groaned,“I’m not adorable May.” But she just nodded her head knowingly and chuckled, “Well fine then, excuse us while  **dad** and I go get dressed now.” He grabbed a smiling Tony’s hand, dragging the man down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

 

“You know, dad does have a nice ring to it,” he chuckled, “but you know what's better kiddo??” Tony asked, still smiling largely from the affirmation of being called Peter’s father. “Instead of Iron Man, I can be Iron Dad- fiercely protecting all of dadkind.”

 

Peter giggled, but quickly tried to muffle the sound with the back of his hand and keep a straight face. “No, that’s not funny at all.” He said trying to be a hundred percent serious as he fell apart at the seams. “Anyways, you need to go get changed dad, so we can leave soon.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Tony replied, entering the room that was largely proclaimed as ‘Tony’s Room’. Like Peter, Tony also had a sign on his door. It had a red and gold repulser crappily drawn on the thick white card stock and the centered read ‘Tony's Room” in white paint pen. 

 

When Tony had finally disappeared, the boy rounded to face his room. His hand closed around the cold metal doorknob and he twisted it to enter.  His room was shrouded in darkness. Textbooks still lay across the floor, the blue and black sheets on his bed were still rumpled.

 

After the excess amount of time the boy had spent with Mr. Stark recently, it was strange to be alone once again. He felt like the second the door closed, he was shrouded in darkness. It made the boy feel helpless. He had spent countless hours over the past day or so listening to Mr. Stark lecture about his well being. But being alone had him wanting to go hide in a corner or cry until he drowned in his own tears. 

 

Very recently, he had been trying to convince himself that Mr. Stark was correct. Maybe he didn’t deserve what Alex did to him. Maybe he wasn’t a freak. Maybe he truly did deserve more in life. More love, or perhaps more acceptance.  

 

The silence was so thick it felt suffocating. He wanted to scream just to avoid its harsh grasps, but instead he walked over to his bed. He felt like he was walking in molasses, but he forced himself to keep on walking forward. 

 

When he reached the bed, his hands closed around the soft fabric of Mr. Stark’s sweatshirt. It had been lying abandoned in a heap of fabric on the twisted sheets, from where he had left it early. 

 

He dragged the oversized sweater onto his skinny frame, inhaling the addicting scent of his newly proclaimed father. He was drowning in the sweatshirt. The fabric pooled around his skinny wrists and the edge brushed against his knees. He wasn’t much smaller than the man, 4 or 5 inches at most, but the sweater made him feel smaller than he was. It made him feel like he was actually Mr. Stark’s four year old son, playing dress up in his father’s clothing.

 

He had missed those essential stages of his early childhood with Tony. Being tiny and hiding in your father’s clothing was a staple of being a little boy. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to recreate the moments he never had. Through watching animated movies with the man and wearing his large clothing, maybe Peter could pretend for a single second that he got to to do this the first time around. 

 

Now that he would be living with Tony for a while, maybe he could work on recreating all the moments the boy felt like he had missed. They could work on healing together, and do father/son things at the same time. It would be perfect. 

 

The boy ran the soft fabric over the skin of his face, trying to catch the calming scent once more. He turned towards the dresser in the corner of the room. Pulling open the first drawer on the top left, he grabbed a pair of dark wash denim jeans. While sliding into them he handled them carefully; knowing Tony they probably had cost more than what May made in a week. Tony loved to buy Peter expensive clothing. At first the boy would always refuse the clothes, opting for his own ratty clothing he had owned for years. But when Mr. Stark had kept on buying them, regardless of if he wore them or not, he started reluctantly wearing them. He didn’t want such expensive items to go to waste. 

 

When Tony’s head ducked around the door frame his hair flopped messily into his eyes. “You about ready to go, kiddo?” He asked, revealing the rest of his body by walking completely into the room. He was now wearing a blazer over the button down shirt and his Hulk sweatpants had been replaced with crisp black skinny jeans. His eyes glanced towards the dark night sky outside the windows, “It’s getting pretty late, but I still think we should do it tonight. That way you can wake up tomorrow knowing you don’t have to rush anywhere.” 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, he needed to remind Tony that he had school tomorrow so he did in fact have to rush somewhere. But as if he read his mind, Tony quickly added to his statement. “May and I think it might be best if you don’t go to school tomorrow. We need a game plan before you go back and a day off probably would be good either way.”

 

Peter glanced down at the floor, his eyes traced over textbooks and dirty laundry. He hated missing school. He felt like every second he wasn’t there, he missed something critical. But school had been such a mess for him lately anyways. His straight D’s were nothing to be proud of and he treated class like a place to nap. 

 

He could see that maybe Alex wasn’t that good for him. He was failing. Fucking failing. Peter had never failed a class in his life (if middle school gym didn’t count), and here he was failing almost every class. And maybe Mr. Stark was right anyways. The boy desperately needed a day off and the prospect of being around Alex made his head spin. He had already missed today, one more day wouldn’t hurt. 

 

“Alright then,” the boy started reluctantly, “I guess I won’t go to school tomorrow. I really do hate missing, but I guess a day or two won’t hurt. It’s a Friday anyways, so I can treat it like an early weekend.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Mr. Stark exclaimed. His tan skin crinkled when he smiled and his eyes glowed like fireflies in the evening.“Now let's go kiddo, we have places to be and apartments to raid.” 

 

Peter turned to face the door. He grasped the edges of his sweater like a safety blanket. He wasn’t ready to leave the tower, he didn't think he would ever be ready to leave again. But, this was the first step towards healing and he needed to take it. He needed to prove himself wrong. He needed to prove Alex wrong.

 

 “Alright dad, let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't die, life is just kicking my ass. I'm super excited for this fic tho and can't wait to finish it up. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you want, they make me happy !!


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